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NOW  READY 

Zbe  Set  of  tbe  Datican 

By  MARY  KNIGHT  POTTER 

fTbe  Set  of  tbe  pitti  palace 

By  JULIA  DE  IV.  ADDISON 

ffbe  Set  of  tbe  Xouvre 

By  MARY  KNIGHT  POTTER 
Other  volumes  in  preparation 

L.  C.  PAGE  & COMPANY 

Publishers,  Boston,  Mass. 


MOXA  LISA  (LA  GIOCONDA) 
By  Leonardo  da  Vinci 


24j) 


be  Hrt  of  tbe 
Xouvte  ♦ 

Containing  a Brief  History  of 
the  Palace  and  of  Its  Collection  of  Paintings, 
as  well  as  Descriptions  and  Criticisms  of  Many 
of  the  Principal  Pictures  and  Their  Artists 


By 

Mary  Knight  Potter 

Author  of  “ The  Art  of  the  Vatican,”  “ Love  in  Art,”  etc. 


Illustrated 


Boston 

C.  Page  & Company 

MD  cccc V 


10  ^ 


Copyright,  igo4 
By  L.  C.  Page  & Company 
(ikcorporated) 

All  rights  reserved 


Published  November,  1904 


COLONIAL  PRESS 

Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Simonds  dr  Co. 
Boston,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


ff)reface 


The  Art  of  the  Louvre,  even  when  that  art  is  restricted 
in  its  meaning  to  the  collection  of  pictures  within  the 
vast  palace,  is  a subject  almost  as  vast  in  its  scope  as  the 
building  that  holds  it.  In  a book  of  this  kind,  then,  it 
has  been  deemed  necessary  to  divide  the  material  into 
three  classes.  A certain  number  of  pictures  and  painters 
have  been  given  extended  notice  and  description ; many 
have  been  treated  far  more  cursorily ; still  others  have 
been  merely  mentioned  or  even  wholly  ignored.  It  is 
in  just  this  selection  that  ground  for  objection  may  be 
taken.  The  reasons  for  enlarging  upon  the  merits  or 
demerits  of  certain  pictures  and  painters  and  for  slight- 
ing others  will,  perhaps,  appear  entirely  insufficient.  The 
writer,  of  course,  cannot  hope  to  escape  such  adverse 
criticism,  but  it  seems  only  fair  to  herself  to  state  briefly 
the  position  taken  in  the  book. 

In  her  choice  she  has  been  guided  first,  by  the  opinions 
of  the  greatest  art  critics  of  the  western  world.  Even  at 
the  risk  of  tiresome  repetitions  she  has  given  large  space 
to  the  greatest  masters  and  their  greatest  works  owned 
by  the  Louvre.  She  has  followed  as  carefully  recognized 
authorities  in  deciding  which  works  and  which  painters 
require  slight  comment.  Between  these  two  extremes, 
however,  is  where  she  has  chiefly  exercised  her  own  judg- 


VI 


preface 


ment.  Undoubtedly  her  own  preferences  have  consider- 
ably influenced  her  decision  as  to  what  was  or  was  not 
worthy  of  much  place  in  the  pages  of  this  at  the  best 
inadequate  account  of  the  marvellous  gallery.  She 
pleads  in  extenuation  that  even  the  most  famous  author- 
ities vary  in  their  estimates  of  painters  or  paintings  of 
what  may  be  called  the  secondary  rank,  and  begs  the 
indulgence  of  her  readers  if  their  taste  differs  from  hers. 

In  the  attempt  to  give  a fair  idea  of  all  the  schools  of 
painting  represented  in  the  museum,  it  follows  that 
certain  works  of  very  mediocre  value  have  had  to  be  con- 
sidered. This  very  inclusion  necessitates  of  course, 
regrettable  exclusions.  Any  one  of  the  works  of  Rem- 
brandt, for  instance,  is  certainly  infinitely  above  any 
Gioya  or  Lawrence  owned  by  the  Louvre.  Yet,  it  has  been 
thought  desirable  to  review,  however  briefly,  these  tvro 
representative  men  of  their  own  times  and  countries,  even 
if  it  meant  the  elimination  of  some  pictures  of  more  noted 
men. 

This  Art  of  the  Louvre  cannot  claim  any  real  origi- 
nality. It  must  perforce  in  the  main  be  a compilation  of 
the  opinions  of  the  most  famous  art  critics.  As  many  of 
these  opinions,  however,  are  entirely  at  variance  one  with 
another,  it  has  been  the  aim  to  choose  from  among  them 
what  seems  to  the  writer  most  generally  true,  and  of 
especial  value  to  readers  who  are  not  connoisseurs  or  deep 
students.  Besides  this  careful  culling  of  authorities,  the 
writer  has  not  hesitated  to  record  her  own  ideas  and  feel- 
ings in  describing  a favourite  picture  or  discussing  a 
much-loved  master.  Such  latitude  has  not  been  felt  to 
be  inconsistent  with  the  object  of  the  book. 

Here  it  may  be  well  to  mention  that  the  list  of  articles 
and  books  given  in  the  bibliography  at  the  end  of  the 
volume,  does  not  of  course  include  nearly  all  that  could  be 


Ipreface 


Vll 


studied  to  advantage  in  connection  with  the  art  treasures 
of  the  Louvre.  Neither  does  it  represent  all  that  have 
been  consulted  in  the  preparation  of  this  volume.  The 
list  holds  only  those  that  have  on  the  whole  been  of 
most  benefit. 

Unfortunately  the  writer  left  Paris  before  the  opening 
of  the  Thomy-Thiery  rooms.  She  has  not  therefore  seen 
that  wonderful  collection.  In  her  descriptions  she  has 
relied  upon  some  excellent  carbon  photographs,  upon 
M.  Jules  Guiffrey’s  descriptive  catalogue,  M.  Georges 
Lafenestre’s  articles  in  the  Beaux  Arts,  and  upon  the 
vivid  words  of  some  artist  friends  who  have  personally 
studied  these  beautiful  examples  of  the  Barbizon  men. 

As  the  subtitle  of  the  book  indicates,  only  the  oil- 
paintings  in  the  museum  have  been  considered.  For 
lack  of  room  neither  the  pastels,  water-colours,  nor  the 
many  mural  decorations  have  been  included.  The  com- 
paratively large  space  given  to  the  French  school  was 
thought  desirable  for  two  reasons.  First  because  both 
the  traveller  and  the  general  student  are  usually  less 
familiar  with  this  school  than  with  any  other,  secondly, 
because,  with  the  exception  of  the  Luxembourg,  the 
Louvre  is  the  only  great  museum  where  French  painting 
can  be  satisfactorily  studied. 

There  remains  to  be  said,  what  is  perhaps  after  all  an 
unnecessary  reminder,  that  the  book  makes  no  claim  to  be 
free  from  errors.  Every  effort  has  been  made  to  avoid 
them,  but  the  writer  is  only  too  sure  that  many  neverthe- 
less must  have  crept  in. 


i 


dontents 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

Preface  v 

I.  History  of  the  Louvre  . . . . i 

II.  Concerning  the  Origin  and  Growth  of 

THE  Picture  - gallery  ....  26 

III.  Salle  DES  Primitifs  — Room  VII Italian 

School 37 

IV.  Salle  Duchatel  — Room  V.  — Italian  and 

French  Schools  59 

V.  Grande  Galerie — Italian  Division  . . 64 

VI.  Grande  Galerie  — Bay  Third  — Italian 

Division 121 

VII.  Grande  Galerie  — Bays  Fourth  and 
Fifth  — Spanish,  German  and  English 

Divisions 126 

VIII.  Grande  Galerie  — Flemish  School  . . 152 

IX.  Salle  Van  Dyck  and  Galerie  Rubens 
— Rooms  XVII.  and  XVIII.  — Flemish 

School 172 

X.  Salles  XIX.  to  XXXVI.  — Flemish  School  181 
XI.  Salles  XIX.  to  XXXVI.  — Dutch  School  195 
XII.  Salon  Carr^ 245 

XIII.  Les  Petites  Salles  Fran^aises  — Rooms 

IX.,  X.,  XI.,  XII.,  XIII.  — Italian  and 
French  Schools  266 

XIV.  Salle  Mollien  — Room  XIV.  — French 

School 272 


IX 


X 

CHAFTSR 

XV. 

XVI. 

XVII. 

XVIII. 

XIX. 

XX. 


Contents 

PAGB 

Salle  Daru  — French  School  — Room 

XVI 288 

Salles  Henri  II.  and  des  Sept  Chemi- 
NEES  — Rooms  II.  and  III — French 

School 312 

Salle  des  Etats  — Room  VIII.  — French 

School 334 

Salle  Lacaze  — Room  I.  — All  Schools  370 
Salle  Denon  — Room  XV — All  Schools 

— Portraits 380 

Thomy-Thiery  Salles  — French  School  385 


Bibliography 401 

Index 405 


3L(st  of  IFUustrations 


PAGB 

Mona  Lisa  (La  Gioconda)  Frontispiece 

By  Leonardo  da  Vinci 

Bird’s-eye  View  of  the  Louvre  and  Its  Sur- 


roundings   2 

Historical  Plan  of  the  Louvre  and  the 

Tuileries  ......  facing  8 

Pavillon  Henri  II.,  the  Louvre  . . . .12 

Perrault’s  Colonnade,  the  Louvre  . . .18 

General  View  of  the  Louvre  ....  24 

Immaculate  Conception 34 

By  Murillo 

Plan  of  the  Louvre  Gallery  . . facing  36 

Lorenzo  Tornabuoni  Led  into  the  Company  of 

the  Liberal  Arts 54 

By  Botticelli 

The  Visitation 56 

By  Ghirlandajo 

Adoration  of  the  Magi 61 

By  Luini 

La  Source  62 


By  Ingres 

Charity 

By  A ndrea  del  Sarto 

Madonna  of  Victory 

By  Mantegna 

Portrait  of  a Man  . 

By  Messina 


80 

90 

92 


xi 


%tst  of  UUuBtrations 


xii 

PAGE 

Adoration  of  the  Shepherds  ....  102 

By  Palma  Vecchio 

Holy  Family 106 

By  Lotto 

Portrait  of  Philip  IV 130 

By  Velasqicez 

Portrait  of  Richard  Warham,  Archbishop  of 

Canterbury 148 

By  Holhein 

Portrait  of  Mother  Catherine  Agnes  Arnaud 

AND  Sister  Catherine  of  St.  Susan  . .163 

By  Champaigne 

Portrait  of  Charles  1 176 

By  V an  Dyck 

Galerie  Rubens 178 

The  Banker  and  His  Wife 190 

By  Matsys 

Bohemian  Girl 196 

By  Frans  Hah 

Christ  at  Emmaus 205 

By  Rembrandt 

The  Dropsical  Woman 214 

By  Gerard  Dou 

An  Officer  Offering  Money  to  a Young  Girl  . 220 

By  Ter  Bor ch 

The  Card  Party  (A  Dutch  Interior)  . . . 232 

By  Pieter  de  Hooch 

Bad  Company 236 

By  Jan  Steen 

The  Concert 247 

By  Giorgione 

Entombment 248 

By  Titian 

The  Man  with  the  Glove 252 

By  Titian 

La  Belle  JardiniLre 254 

By  Raphael 


%i3t  of  HUustrattons 


xiii 

PAGE 

Jupiter  and  Antiope 256 

By  Correggio 

Marriage  Feast  at  Cana 260 

By  Veronese 

Portrait  of  Helen  Fourment  and  Two  of  Her 


Children 

By  Rubens 

• 

• 

262 

Portrait  of  Hendrickje  Stoffels 

By  Rembrandt 

Time  Rescuing  Truth  from  the 

Attacks 

OF 

264 

Envy  and  Discord 

By  Poussin 

• 

276 

Embarkation  for  Cythera 

By  Watteau 

Transportation  of  Psyche  by  the 

Zephyrs 

TO 

294 

Cupid’s  Realm  .... 

By  Prud  'hon 

• 

320 

The  Bohemians 

By  Diaz 

• 

331 

Execution  without  Judgment. 

By  Regnault 

• 

332 

A Morning  (The  Dance  of  the  Nymphs) 

By  Corot 

344 

Massacre  of  Chios  .... 

By  Delacroix 

• 

348 

Oxen  Going  to  Work 

By  Troy  on 

• 

353 

The  Gleaners  

By  Millet 

00 

Opening  in  the  Forest  at  Fontainebleau  . 

By  Rousseau 

361 

Springtime 

By  Daubigny 

366 

Head  of  a Young  Girl  . 

By  Greuze 

• • 

379 

Great  Oak  and  Watering-place  . 

By  Dupri 

• • 

• 

396 

\ --V 


tEbe  Hct  of  the  ILouvre 


CHAPTER  L 

HISTORY  OF  THE  LOUVRE 

Between  the  rue  de  Rivoli  and  the  Seine,  in  the  very 
heart  of  Paris,  lies  the  great  gray  rectangle  of  buildings 
called  the  Louvre,  the  most  important,  as  it  is  the  most 
perfect  architectural  expression  of  the  Renaissance  in 
France.  A bird’s-eye  view  of  this  enormous  construction, 
with  its  vast  length  of  walls,  its  open  courts,  its  frequent 
square  towers,  and  its  guarded  entrances,  suggests  a 
walled  city  rather  than  a palace.  In  other  words,  these 
forty-eight  acres  of  ground  appear  to  be  merely  bounded 
by  this  long  line  of  wall  that  throws  out  a cross-section 
or  two  dividing  into  squares  and  oblongs  the  immense 
rectangular  enclosure.  But  across  the  eastern  end  the 
boundary  has  gone.  With  it  has  gone  the  whole  raison 
d’etre  of  this  spanning  structure.  If  the  Palace  of  the 
Tuileries  had  not  stood  almost  directly  west  of  the  Louvre, 
no  such  lengfth  of  wings  would  ever  have  been  thrown 
out  from  either  building.  From  Catherine  de’  Medici’s 
day  the  object  of  both  king  and  architect  was  to  make 
these  two  palaces  into  one  continuous  and  homogeneous 
edifice.  It  was  not  till  Napoleon  III.  that  this  was 


2 


XLbc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


entirely  accomplished,  and  its  completion  was  of  short 
duration.  The  Commune,  with  the  unreasoning  ven- 
geance that  destroys  even  the  inanimate  surroundings 
of  its  enemy,  having  driven  from  its  portals  the  empress 
the  people  themselves  had  chosen,  set  fire  to  her  palace. 
Thus  went  up  in  flames  Delorme’s  famous  fagade,  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  architectural  creations  in  the  city,  the 
wonderful  library,  with  its  priceless  collection  of  manu- 
scripts, and  the  palace,  which  was  not  only  of  inestimable 
value,  but,  by  its  conjunction  with  the  Louvre,  formed  one 
of  its  integral  parts. 

It  is  not  easy  to  get  a view  of  the  whole  plan  of  the 
Louvre,  consequently  the  tremendous  loss  of  the  Tuileries 
is  not  generally  realized.  From  the  Place  du  Carrousel, 
certainly,  even  the  most  casual  observer  must  feel  a lack 
of  meaning  in  those  two  parallel  arms  that  end  in  empty 
space,  joining  nothing,  finishing  nowhere.  But  even 
there,  it  is  easy  to  forget  this  vacancy  in  looking  beyond 
the  arms  out  into  the  Gardens  of  the  Tuileries,  the  sole 
remnant  of  the  days  of  the  royal  will  that  demanded  the 
blooms  of  the  tropics  before  his  Paris  windows.  Despite 
the  vanished  palace,  the  Louvre  remains  the  most  nearly 
perfect,  as  it  is  the  most  valuable  architectural  possession 
of  the  Renaissance  in  Paris. 

Perhaps  it  is  its  massiveness  that  strikes  one  most 
forcibly  and  at  once.  There  is  a certain  austerity  in  the 
very  grayness  of  the  stone  with  which  it  is  built.  In 
general  it  may  be  called  three  stories  high.  But  in 
effect  it  is  much  more  than  that.  For,  besides  the  great 
elevation  of  each  story,  the  walls  are  continually  spread- 
ing into  “ pavilions,”  — square,  domed  towers  that  rise 
heavily  above  the  connecting  walls,  adding  with  their 
rich,  often  florid  decorations,  both  height  and  grandeur 
to  the  whole  building. 


liIRD’S-EYE  VIEW  OF  THE  LOUVRE  AND  ITS  SURROUNDINGS 


fjtstori?  of  tbe  Xouvre 


3 


With  the  exception  of  certain  foundations,  no  part  of 
the  Louvre  is  older  than  the  time  of  Frangois  I.,  and 
most  of  it  belongs  to  much  later  days.  Though  in  its 
present  state  it  is  thus  of  such  comparatively  recent 
erection,  the  Louvre  existed  long  years  before  the  days  of 
the  “ Old  R%ime.” 

When  or  by  whom  this  first  Louvre  was  built,  neither 
historians,  architects,  nor  archeologists  have  discovered. 
Nor  is  the  etymology  of  the  name,  or  why  it  was  applied, 
any  more  definitely  settled.  It  has  been  supposed  to  be 
derived  from  Lupus  lupera,  and  is  claimed  to  have  been 
given  because  the  house  at  first  was  a mere  hunting-lodge 
in  the  middle  of  the  forest,  where  wolves  abounded. 
Others  claim  that  it  was  not  till  Philippe-Auguste  that 
the  word  was  used.  Having  built  what  was  undoubtedly 
the  most  beautiful  and  important  work  in  Paris,  it  was 
natural  that  he  should  call  it  the  work,  — I’ oeuvre,  quasi 
chef-d’oeuvre,”  — from  whence  Louvre  is  easily  formed. 
Again,  it  has  been  said  that  the  name  came  from  “ robur,” 
implying  the  situation  of  the  lodge  in  the  middle  of  the 
forest. 

Sauval  has  a still  different  opinion,  and  his  conjecture 
has  been  accepted  by  Lebeuf  and  Jaillot.  He  declares 
that  an  old  Latin-Saxon  glossary  translates  the  word 
“ castellum,”  fortress,  by  the  word  “ leouar,”  which,  he 
says,  must  later  have  been  transformed  into  Louvre. 

All  these  etymologic  discussions,  therefore,  not  only 
attempt  to  settle  the  derivation  of  the  name,  but,  if  any  one 
of  the  claims  could  be  absolutely  verified,  the  original 
purpose  of  the  building  itself  would  also  be  demonstrated. 
As  it  is,  we  do  not  know  whether  it  was  at  first  a mere 
hunting-lodge,  or  whether  it  was  built  as  a fortress  to 
guard  the  Seine  at  that  important  point  against  the 
Norman  inroads.  Or,  its  inception  may  not  date  much 


4 


Zbc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


before  the  first  positive  account  we  have  of  it,  which 
makes  it  the  work  of  Philippe-Auguste.  The  fact  that, 
in  all  the  old  accounts  of  his  time,  the  tower  is  called  the 
new  tower,  seems  to  give  ground  to  the  supposition  that 
he  was  rebuilding,  rather  than  creating  anew.  And, 
indeed,  the  weight  of  authority  is  largely  in  favour  of 
this  view.  If  Childebert,  in  the  beginning  of  the  sixth 
century,  was  not  its  founder,  at  least  there  is  good  reason 
for  supposing  that  Dagobert’s  hunting-lodge,  in  the  early 
part  of  the  seventh  century,  was  none  other  than  this  same 
Louvre.  There  is  even  fair  ground  for  believing  that  as 
early  as  Charlemagne  the  lodge,  or  fortress,  had  grown  to 
such  proportions  that  he  settled  Alcuin  and  other  learned 
men  within  it,  — thus  founding  the  great  schools  of 
France. 

Sauval,  in  the  time  of  Louis  XIV.,  was  the  first  his- 
torian to  mention  the  Louvre,  except  in  the  briefest  terms. 
It  is  to  him,  and  others  after  him,  that  we  are  indebted  for 
what  we  do  know  of  the  palace  as  it  was  in  the  thirteenth 
century.  Whether  or  not  there  was  a Louvre  of  any 
prominence  when  Philippe-Auguste  came  to  the  throne 
in  ii8o,  from  his  day  on  the  edifice  of  that  name  has 
never  ceased  to  be  one  of  the  chief  glories  of  Paris.  It 
was  in  1204  that  he  began  the  work  which  the  centuries 
since  have  not  seen  finished.  To-day,  all  that  is  left  of 
his  mighty  walls  and  impregnable  tower  is  a part  of  the 
deep  foundations  on  the  southeast  corner  of  the  Old 
Louvre.  But  for  three  hundred  years  it  stood  practically 
as  it  was  built  by  “ this  first  of  French  kings  after  Charle- 
magne, who  displayed  genius  for  order,  reform,  and  royal 
independence.” 

The  Louvre,  at  the  end  of  his  reign,  was  a great  tower, 
situated  in  the  centre  of  a square  court,  with  its  four 
sides  enclosed  by  four  lines  of  two-storied  buildings.  The 


Ijistors  of  tbe  Xouvre 


s 


tower  had  a conical  roof  of  many  coloured  tiles,  and 
was  surmounted  by  a huge  and  brilliant  weathercock. 
Within  were  numerous  apartments,  including  a chapel 
and  a vault  for  treasure.  Here,  too,  were  the  rooms  where 
the  lords  of  France  came  to  pay  their  feudal  tithes  to 
the  king.  The  court,  in  the  centre  of  which  was  the  tower, 
was  about  a quarter  the  size  of  the  present  inner  court 
of  the  Old  Louvre.  It  was  the  space  to-day  lying  between 
the  Pavilion  des  Arts,  and  that  of  L’Horloge.  The  walls 
surrounding  it  were  of  immense  thickness,  flanked  by 
a number  of  towers,  and  infrequently  pierced  by  narrow 
openings,  with  neither  sculptures  nor  ornaments  of  any 
sort.  The  principal  towers  were  placed  at  the  four 
corners,  those  near  the  centre  of  the  fagades  being  lower, 
and,  for  the  most  part,  of  flat  roofs  with  square  battle- 
ments. Between  two  of  these  lower  towers  was  the 
principal  entrance  on  the  river  side.  As  it  stood,  the 
Louvre  of  Philippe-Auguste  was  a palace,  a fortress  and 
a dungeon,  so  constructed  as  to  make  its  aspect  most 
formidable.  Sauval  has  unearthed  documents  which  go 
to  prove  that  the  great  central  tower  measured  144  feet 
in  circumference,  and  ninety-six  feet  in  height,  with 
walls  thirteen  feet  thick.  Its  only  direct  communication 
with  the  buildings  of  the  court  was  by  an  elevated  gallery. 
From  the  time  of  Philippe-Auguste,  during  the  next 
three  hundred  years,  many  noted  prisoners  were  confined 
here,  and  it  is  said  that  when  Frangois  I.  began  the 
destruction  of  this  dungeon  tower,  a great  clamovir  arose 
among  the  Parisians.  For  years,  one  of  the  joys  of  the 
populace  had  been  to  watch  the  various  imprisoned  princes 
walking  about  the  parapets,  and  they  strongly  objected 
to  its  curtailment. 

The  first  sovereign  after  Philippe-Auguste  to  make 
additions  to  the  Louvre,  was  his  grandson,  good  King 


6 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


Louis.  He  built,  on  the  first  floor  of  a western  wing,  an 
immense  hall,  seventy-two  feet  long  by  forty-two  wide, 
which  for  years  after  was  called  by  his  name.  From  his 
time  to  1364,  nothing  of  any  importance  was  added. 
In  that  year  Charles  V.  came  to  the  throne,  and  he  was  no 
less  energetic  and  revolutionary  in  the  changes  he  made 
in  his  palace  than  he  was  in  those  he  inaugurated  in  the 
state.  Charles  the  Wise  was  one  who,  though  physically 
weak  and  of  not  overpowering  mental  strength,  knew 
enough  to  surround  himself  with,  and  to  be  guided  by, 
men  of  real  power  and  intellect.  He  it  was  who  recognized 
the  great  abilities  of  Du  Guesclin,  the  man  who  succeeded 
in  ridding  France  of  those  fearful  free  companies,  that 
for  years  had  plundered  and  pillaged  the  whole  country 
unpunished,  and  who  brought  back  to  the  Crown  town 
after  town  that  had  established  its  independence. 

When,  in  1380,  Charles  died,  he  had,  as  Mr.  Watson 
pithily  summarizes,  “ abolished  every  tax  not  authorized 
by  the  national  assembly,  had  amassed  a treasure  of 
seventeen  million  livres,  — great  for  that  time,  — had 
collected  a library  of  910  volumes,  which  became  the 
nucleus  of  the  national  library,  and  had  commenced  the 
building  of  the  Bastile,  the  fortress-prison  so  ominously 
identified  with  French  history.”  If  he  was  interested  in 
beginning  this  famous  prison,  he  was  no  less  anxious 
to  remove  the  jail-like  aspect  of  his  palace.  He  raised 
the  walls,  increased  the  tower,  made  the  exterior  more 
graceful  in  line  and  form,  gave  the  towers  various  shapes, 
and  put  all  kinds  of  sculptured  figures  over  the  different 
stones,  and  enclosed  the  whole  within  the  city  walls. 
Within,  the  changes  were  still  more  wonderful.  The 
great  hall  of  St.  Louis  had  fallen  into  ruins,  and  he  re- 
paired that,  still  retaining  the  saintly  king’s  name.  The 
rooms  designed  for  official  ceremonies  were  decorated 


1bl0tor^  of  tbe  Xoupre 


7 


most  magnificently,  and  the  royal  apartments,  especially 
those  of  the  queen,  Jeanne  de  Bourbon,  were  lavishly 
ornamented  with  sculptures,  paintings,  tapestries,  and 
rare  inlays.  The  furniture  was  more  luxurious  than 
any  so  far  seen.  There  was  one  room,  the  Chambre  aux 
Joyaux,  where  the  king  placed  his  objects  of  art,  and 
where,  filling  two  stories  of  a tower  called  the  Tour  de 
la  Libraire,  were  the  manuscripts  that  made  his  library. 
This  was  lighted  by  chandeliers  and  lamps,  enabling 
him  to  read  all  night.  Sixty  years  after  his  death  his 
priceless  collection  of  manuscripts  was  sold  at  a ridic- 
ulously low  price  to  the  Duke  of  Betfort,  and  was  thus 
lost  to  France  for  ever.  About  the  palace  the  king  laid 
out  most  beautiful  gardens,  and  among  them,  and  more  or 
less  attached  to  the  palace  proper,  were  all  sorts  of  out- 
buildings for  the  proper  running  of  his  establishment,  — 
such  as  the  creamery,  the  pastry-house,  the  falconry,  etc. 
As  Charles  knew  how  to  choose  Du  Guesclin  for  general 
and  adviser  in  state  matters,  so  he  knew  whom  to  select 
for  head  architect.  Raymond  du  Temple  was  the  master 
of  all  these  works,  and  the  way  he  carried  out  his  designs 
more  than  justified  the  king’s  judgment  in  placing  him 
at  their  head.  One  of  the  chief  marvels  that  he  con- 
structed was  a circular  stairway,  of  124  steps,  admirably 
planned  and  decorated,  and  attached  to  one  of  the  facades 
of  the  court.  This  was  not  destroyed  until  the  time 
of  Louis  XIII.,  during  the  reconstruction  of  the  Louvre 
by  Lemercier. 

For  a century  and  a half  after  the  death  of  Charles 
V.  the  Louvre  was  left  to  a desolation  that  finally 
threatened  the  destruction  even  of  the  halls  themselves. 
Charles  VI.  and  Isabelle,  his  queen,  made  at  first  a few 
short  stays  there,  during  one  of  which  was  born  Princess 
Catherine  who  married  Henry  V.  of  England.  The  only 


8 


XLbc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


additions  this  son  of  Charles  the  Wise  made  were  to  its 
fortifications,  — to  do  which  he  destroyed  the  garden  of 
the  king  and  queen  on  the  banks  of  the  Seine.  For 
nearly  the  entire  forty-two  years  of  this  debauched, 
debased,  ruinous,  mad  reign,  the  Louvre  was  uninhabited, 
and  left  to  a desolation  in  which,  indeed,  all  Paris  shared. 
In  1438,  it  is  said,  twenty-four  thousand  houses  stood 
empty  in  the  city,  and  in  the  streets  wolves  prowled 
unafraid.  During  the  reigns  of  Charles  VI.,  Louis  XL, 
Charles  VIII.,  and  Louis  XII.,  Les  Tournelles  was  the 
royal  residence.  For  all  those  years,  nevertheless,  the 
Louvre  was  the  scene  of  many  important  events.  In 
1358,  when  John  of  England  was  a captive,  the  bourgeois 
of  Paris,  who  upheld  the  deputies  of  the  Communes 
against  the  general  government,  besieged  and  entered  the 
Louvre,  expelled  the  governor,  and  took  to  the  Hotel  de 
Ville  all  the  arms  and  munitions  found  in  the  arsenal. 
During  the  reign  of  Charles  VI.,  when  the  king  was 
combatting  the  insurrection  of  Flanders,  the  Parisians 
revolted  also,  and  would  have  torn  down  the  tower  of 
both  Louvre  and  Bastile,  had  not  Le  Flamand  counselled 
them  so  effectually  to  delay,  that  their  plan  was  never 
carried  out.  In  1399,  Androuin,  and  in  1400,  klanuel 
Paleologue,  both  Emperors  of  Constantinople,  were 
lodged  at  the  Louvre,  as  well  as  the  Emperor  Sigismond, 
in  1415,  and  the  King  and  Queen  of  England,  in  1422. 
From  Louis  XII.  the  officers  of  the  Provost  of  Paris 
obtained  permission  to  transport  to  the  Louvre  their 
tribunal  and  their  prisons,  while  they  repaired  the 
“ Chatelet,”  which  was  fast  going  to  wreck. 

Finally  came  Frangois  1.  This  king,  who  had  neither 
honour  nor  gratitude,  morality  nor  decency,  swaggered 
through  a reign  of  bloodshed,  fanaticism,  dissoluteness, 
oppression  and  devastation,  and  left  what  had  been  a 


1 : 5150  ^ 


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Ibistors  of  tbe  Xouvre 


9 


prosperous  kingdom  in  wreck  and  ruin.  Taste  for  the 
fine  arts,  however,  Francois  had,  and  some  of  the  money 
he  wrung  from  his  starving  people  he  lavished  on  artistic 
works  and  their  creators.  It  was  to  his  court  that 
Leonardo  came,  it  was  his  funds  Andrea  del  Sarto  was 
called  guilty  of  misappropriating,  — funds  which  prob- 
ably, by  any  moral  test,  never  really  belonged  to  the 
royal  pilferer.  He  was  the  first  of  the  French  kings  to 
have  a great  court.  Before  his  day  the  nobles  came  to 
Paris  only  for  state  or  business  reasons,  and  for  limited 
periods.  Now,  however,  nobles,  ladies,  scholars,  poets, 
artists,  — all  actually  lived  in  or  near  the  palace,  and  the 
king  never  moved  without  a great  retinue  of  notables  in 
his  train.  To  maintain  such  state  it  was  absolutely 
necessary  to  have  a palace  of  far  greater  dimensions  and 
convenience  than  any  then  at  his  disposal.  The  Louvre 
by  this  time  had  fallen  into  such  wretched  condition  that 
to  make  it  habitable  it  needed  rebuilding.  It  was  with  the 
great  tower  of  Philippe- Auguste  that  Frangois  began  the 
demolition.  So  enormously  massive  were  the  walls  that 
it  took  four  months  of  hard  labour  besides  immense 
expense,  to  raze  it  to  the  ground.  Once  this  was  accom- 
plished, certain  repairs  to  the  buildings  about  the  court 
w,ere  undertaken.  But  the  king  had  too  many  wars  of 
conquest,  oppression  and  intrigue  on  hand.  The  building 
of  a palace  became  of  such  minor  importance  that  gradu- 
ally all  work  on  it  ceased,  and  finally  it  was  once  more 
left  to  decay  and  isolation. 

Twelve  years  after,  however,  Charles  V.,  Emperor  of 
Germany,  was  planning  to  pass  through  the  French 
kingdom  on  his  way  to  the  Netherlands.  In  spite  of 
various  bitter  wars  between  the  two,  previous  to  this  time, 
Charles  and  Frangois  were  now  politically  friends.  The 
latter,  therefore,  determined  to  lodge  the  emperor  at  the 


10 


^be  art  of  tbe  Xouvre 


Louvre,  and  to  entertain  him  in  a manner  that  should 
rival  in  splendour  his  greeting  to  Henry  VIII.  of  England 
on  the  Field  of  the  Qoth  of  Gold.  With  this  in  mind, 
despite  the  short  time  intervening  before  the  emperor’s 
arrival,  he  commanded  a rehabilitation  of  the  Louvre 
that  was  nothing  short  of  a resurrection.  Windows  were 
enlarged  and  multiplied,  partitions  were  torn  down 
between  rooms  and  new  ones  substituted,  walls  were  cov- 
ered with  sculptures,  tapestries,  and  embroideries.  Most 
of  the  buildings  which  Charles  V.  had  erected  between  the 
river  and  chateau  were  destroyed,  and  upon  the  levelled 
ground  took  place  the  plays,  the  tourneys,  and  other 
things  pertaining  to  a magnificent  fete.  The  reception  was 
splendid.  Charles  V.,  the  whole  court,  the  King  and 
Queen  of  Navarre,  the  Duchesse  d’Etampes,  all  remained 
at  the  Louvre  for  many  days. 

This  restoration,  nevertheless,  was  in  reality  a mere 
“ tour  de  force,”  having  nothing  of  permanence  about 
it.  The  haste  and  incompleteness  of  building  left  the 
castle  in  a less  solid  condition  than  before  this  theatrical 
splurge  was  begnn.  The  king  himself,  though  show  was 
ever  more  his  watchword  than  solidity,  realized  this,  and 
resolved  forthwith  on  a complete  reconstruction.  At 
this  time  Greek  and  Roman  architecture  was  succeeding 
that  of  the  Gothic  period.  A school  of  artists  at  Fontaine- 
bleau, under  celebrated  masters,  was  already  started,  and 
in  spite  of  certain  contradictory  influences,  the  art  of  the 
Renaissance  was  in  full  swing.  In  the  twenty-fifth  year  of 
his  reign,  then,  Frangois  1.  confided  the  execution  of  his 
plans  to  Pierre  Lescot,  Abbe  de  Clagny,  an  architect  of 
some  renown.  With  him  were  associated  the  sculptors 
Jean  Bullant,  Philibert  Delorme,  Jean  Goujon,  and  Paolo 
Ponzio,  all  leaders  of  the  new  and  vigorous  school. 
Lescot  fairly  bubbled  over  with  ideas  of  richness  and 


Ibistors  of  tbe  Xouvrc 


II 


beauty.  With  the  assistance  of  Goujon  and  Ponzio,  his 
plan  was  to  be  a complete  expression  of  the  French 
Renaissance.  Exactly  what  these  plans  were,  it  is  now 
impossible  to  decide.  They  were  most  lamentably  lost, 
and  insufficient  historical  data  exist  concerning  them. 
But  it  is  pretty  certain  that  the  ancient  dimensions  of  the 
Louvre  were  to  be  respected,  and  that  whenever  possible, 
the  new  walls  were  to  be  raised  on  the  old  foundations. 
It  is  known  also  that  the  tops  of  the  building  were  sharply 
crenelated,  and  that  at  the  four  angles,  conforming  to  the 
French  traditions,  were  to  be  four  large,  square  pavilions, 
of  which  one  alone.  Pavilion  du  Roi,  exists  to-day ; — and 
that  is  almost  lost  in  the  massive  framing  of  the  Salle 
des  Sept  Cheminees.  Also,  it  is  known  that  the  exterior 
of  the  palace  was  to  be  in  a sober,  contained  style,  Lescot 
reserving  for  the  interior  fagades  Ponzio’s  and  Goujon’s 
chefs-d’ceiizre  of  sculpture. 

Work  was  commenced  in  1540  by  the  demolition  of  the 
western  wing,  which  contained  the  grand  hall  of  St. 
Louis  and  the  library  of  Charles  V.  The  foundations 
of  these  were  so  solid  that  Lescot  kept  them  for  his 
new  constructions.  This  fact,  attested  by  the  old 
registries  of  the  Chambre  des  Comptes,  the  great  wall  of 
the  fagade  which  faced  the  Tuileries  itself  confirms.  Up 
to  the  res-de-chaussee  it  is  of  an  even  and  unbroken 
thickness,  exceeding  six  feet.  Lescot  conducted  the  build- 
ing of  the  western  wing  with  greatest  care.  When,  in 
1547,  Frangois  1.  died,  it  was  still  incomplete.  Indeed, 
little  of  the  real  work  was  accomplished.  Only  one  bit 
was  entirely  finished.  That  was  the  reconstruction  of  one 
of  the  principal  corner  courts  of  Charles  V.,  called  La 
Cour  aux  Offices,  which  was  destroyed  in  the  reign  of 
Louis  XIV. 

During  the  twelve  years’  reign  of  Henri  II.,  from  1547 


12 


Zbc  Brt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


to  1559,  Lescot  continued  his  labours  uninterruptedly. 
A year  was  given  to  finishing  the  western  wing,  but  the 
sculptures  of  it  were  not  done  till  two  years  later.  Paolo 
Ponzio  had  charge  of  decorating  the  attic,  whose  finish  of 
detail  and  perfection  of  design  we  admire  to-day.  The 
other  parts  were  left  to  Goujon,  — who  was  murdered 
while  there  at  work  during  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholo- 
mew. When  Henri  II.  was  accidentally  killed  in  tourna- 
ment by  Montgomery,  the  Pavilion  du  Roi  had  been 
completed,  and  the  eastern  wing  parallel  to  the  river  was 
carried  up  to  the  second  story.  His  death  was  most  un- 
fortunate for  the  Louvre.  Had  he  lived  to  his  father’s 
age,  there  is  no  doubt  but  that  Lescot  would  have  com- 
pleted the  work  so  ably  begun.  The  seventeen  months, 
during  which  his  son  Francois  IT,  the  sickly  youth  of 
seventeen,  reigned,  saw  no  appreciable  changes  in  Lescot’s 
plans.  But  after  his  death,  after  the  ill-fated  bride,  jMary, 
had  sailed  back  to  her  Scottish  home,  the  state  was  in  the 
hands  of  the  queen  of  Henri  IL,  acting  as  regent  for  her 
nine-year-old  son  Charles  IX.  Like  all  Italians,  Catherine 
de’  Medici  had  a taste  for  art.  But  it  was  a taste  always 
subordinated  to  the  caprices  of  an  unquiet  nature,  which 
loved  the  legitimate  in  art  as  little  as  in  life.  She  had 
not  the  slightest  intention  of  following  docilely  her 
husband’s  example,  of  continuing  patiently  a work  which 
at  the  best  offered  little  to  a woman  always  most  attracted 
by  the  new.  It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  she 
interrupted  in  the  very  debut  of  her  reign  the  projects  of 
the  dead  king.  Her  first  aim  was  to  make  the  Louvre 
habitable. 

The  tournament  in  which  Henri  H.  was  killed  took 
place  at  Tournelles,  the  royal  residence  during  the  reigns 
of  Charles  VI.,  Charles  VIL,  Louis  XI.,  Charles  VIIL, 
Louis  XH.,  Frangois  L,  and  Henri  H.  As  an  evidence 


PAVILLON  HKNRI  11.,  THE  LOUVRE 


1 


Ibistorp  of  tbe  Xouvre 


13 


of  her  great  grief  at  her  husband’s  death  Catherine  had 
had  the  palace  torn  down.  This  made  it  all  the  more  nec- 
essary to  hasten  operations  at  the  Louvre.  The  works  in 
course  of  building  were  stopped,  the  sculptures  left  un- 
finished, and  all  activity  was  concentrated  upon  the  prepa- 
rations for  habitation.  She  pushed  these  rapidly,  and 
little  by  little  the  Louvre  was  made  ready  to  receive  the 
court. 

The  appearance  of  the  building  at  this  time  was  strange 
enough.  At  the  north  and  east  were  the  severe  lines  of 
Philippe-Auguste  and  Charles  V.,  with  their  towers, 
ogives,  bridges,  turrets,  pinnacles  and  weathercocks. 
These  faced  the  calm  lines  of  Lescot’s  new  wing  but  re- 
cently finished,  with  its  admirable  sculpture  of  Paolo 
Ponzio  and  Jean  Goujon.  Then,  at  the  south,  in  the 
midst  of  materials  and  rubbish  of  all  kinds,  Catherine 
started  a wing  of  two  stories,  which  became  afterward  a 
part  of  the  southern  wing  that  joined  the  Tuileries  and 
Louvre.  There  was,  however,  no  attempt  at  joining  it 
harmoniously,  or  even  decently,  with  the  rest.  One 
part  was  hitched  on  to  another  by  provisional  construc- 
tions that  produced,  it  is  true,  a certain  picturesque 
effect ; but  it  is  of  course  evident  that  Lescot  had  been 
allowed  no  say  about  it  at  all.  In  fact,  the  great  archi- 
tect had  been  ignored,  his  advice  not  even  asked.  Even 
after  the  queen  mother  was  once  settled  in  the  palace  he 
was  not  permitted  to  proceed  with  his  plans.  They  were 
altogether  too  excellent  for  her  erratic  taste.  She  chose 
her  own  way,  and  her  own  architects,  men  of  far  inferior 
talent  to  the  one  so  summarily  dismissed.  Following  the 
Pavilion  du  Roi,  and  perpendicularly  to  the  Seine,  she 
began  the  building  of  a res-de-chaussee,  surmounted  by 
a flat  roof.  The  lining  wall  of  an  ancient  ditch  which 
served  as  foundation  seemed  her  sole  reason  for  con- 


14 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvrc 


structing  as  she  did.  On  the  long  flat  roof  of  this  latest 
addition,  Charles  IX.  was  accustomed  daily  to  walk ; and 
it  was  from  a balcony  there  that  he  has  been  said  to  have 
given  the  signal  for  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew. 
The  only  objection  to  this  is  that  such  a balcony  did  not 
exist  in  his  time.  It  was  not  till  nearly  the  end  of  the  cen- 
tury that  Henri  IV.  surmounted  the  roof  by  a story 
which  was  called  the  “ Petite  Galerie,”  or  “ Galerie  des 
Rois,”  which  afterward  became  the  “ Galerie  d’Apollon.” 

Catherine’s  plans  were  followed  not  only  during  the 
minority  of  Charles  IX.,  but  throughout  the  reign  of 
both  himself  and  his  brother  Henri  III.  Considering 
that  even  in  most  important  matters  of  state  these  two 
vacillating  kings  were  continually  checked  and  counter- 
checked  by  their  unscrupulous  mother,  there  is  no  reason 
for  doubting  that  if  she  had  chosen  to  build  a veritable 
Tower  of  Babel,  she  would  have  achieved  her  design. 

When  Henri  IV.  began  his  reign,  — that  apostle  and 
defender  of  the  Protestant  party,  who  was  actually 
crowned  only  after  he  had  officially  renounced  his 
Protestantism,  — Catherine  was  dead.  Jean  Goujon  had 
belonged  to  the  party  this  Henri  of  Navarre  had  so  long 
championed,  and  it  might  be  supposed  the  new  monarch 
would  have  returned  to  the  style  of  building  that  sculptor 
had  so  ably  decorated.  But  there  was  now  no  great 
architect  living.  Lescot,  Delorme  and  Bullant  were  all 
gone.  Androuet  du  Cerceau  alone  was  left.  Whether 
with  his  advice  or  not,  Henri  determined  to  build,  not 
on  to  the  unfinished  quadrangle  of  Lescot,  but  a wing, 
that,  starting  from  the  southern  corner  of  the  Tuileries, 
should  join  Catherine’s  southwestern  extension  of  the 
Louvre.  Partly,  at  least,  under  Du  Cerceau’s  direction, 
the  great  Pavilion  de  Flore  at  the  corner  of  the  Tuileries, 
and  as  much  of  the  Long  Gallery  as  reaches  to  the 


■fcistors  of  tbe  Xouvre 


15 


Pavilion  de  Lesdiguieres  was  accomplished.  Henri’s 
open  statement  concerning  this  wing  was  that  it  was 
constructed  “ to  adorn  the  quays.”  Actually,  it  was  more 
for  the  purpose  of  preparing  a way  of  escape  for  him- 
self, should  occasion  demand  it.  The  Long  Gallery  was 
finished  in  1608.  As  has  been  noted,  to  Henri  IV.  also 
was  due  the  Galerie  d’Apollon. 

The  future  Louis  XHL  was  only  nine  when  Henri  IV. 
was  assassinated  in  1610.  During  the  regency  of  his 
mother,  Marie  de’  Medici,  all  work  on  the  Louvre  was 
stopped.  Once  he  himself  held  the  reins  of  state,  or  per- 
haps more  correctly,  when  Richelieu  held  them,  building 
was  again  energetically  resumed,  and  this  time  admirably 
carried  on.  The  plans  of  Lescot  now  seemed  decidedly 
inadequate.  The  King  of  France,  it  was  declared,  should 
have  the  finest  palace  in  Europe.  Lemercier,  chosen  by 
Richelieu  as  architect,  proposed  to  leave  intact  the  two 
fagades  of  Lescot,  making  as  they  did  a right  angle,  and 
bounding  what  was  the  south  and  west  side  of  the 
original  court  of  the  Louvre.  The  old  north  and  east 
wings  he  destroyed.  His  intent  was  to  continue  the 
two  fagades  of  Lescot,  making  each  twice  their  com- 
pleted length,  but  reproducing  in  the  prolongation  the 
architecture  of  the  already  existing  part.  Then  he 
planned  to  join  to  these  on  the  east  and  north,  two  other 
wings,  equal  in  dimensions  to  the  first  two.  By  this  plan, 
the  extent  of  the  buildings  was  doubled  and  the  court 
quadrupled.  The  only  innovation  which  Lemercier  per- 
mitted himself  was  the  addition  to  the  four  great  pavil- 
ions of  the  first  design,  — of  which  only  one  in  the 
southwest  angle,  called  the  Pavilion  du  Roi,  was  already 
built,  — four  other  pavilions  of  the  same  importance  and 
height,  placed  in  the  centre  of  each  of  the  four  fagades, 
and  thus  agreeably  interrupting  the  uniformity  of  the 


i6 


Xlbe  art  of  tbe  Xouvre 


lines  so  greatly  prolonged.  This  plan  was  adopted,  and 
its  execution  commenced  in  1624.  On  the  28th  of  June 
of  that  year  the  first  stone  was  laid  with  much  pomp  and 
ceremony  by  Louis  XIII.  Shortly  afterward  the  Pavilion 
de  I’Horloge  was  erected.  This,  Lescot  had  originally 
intended  to  be  the  northwestern  corner  of  his  square. 
Now  it  became  the  central  one  of  the  western  wing. 
Lemercier’s  model  was  the  one  Lescot  had  built  at  the 
southwest  corner.  From  this  central  pavilion  to  the 
extremity  of  the  northwestern  end  of  the  facade,  Lemer- 
cier  faithfully  reproduced  the  model  left  him  by  Lescot. 
Then  in  the  corner  of  that  fagade  he  built  a new  pavilion 
of  like  character  to  the  Pavilion  du  Roi,  and  began  the 
wing  that  returns  on  tlie  north.  This  he  carried  through 
hardly  half-way,  and  but  to  the  first  floor. 

During  the  minority  of  Louis  XIV.,  work  in  the 
Louvre  was  confined  to  decorating  the  interiors.  L^pon 
his  coming  of  age,  and  after  the  death  of  Lemercier, 
Fouquet,  superintendent,  chose  Levau  as  his  successor. 
Levau  continued  the  northern  wing,  and  then  commenced 
the  prolongation  of  the  southern.  On  the  inner  side  he 
reproduced  the  architecture  of  the  part  already  completed. 
On  the  river  side,  however,  he  made  some  innovations. 
Against  his  central  pavilion,  for  instance,  he  placed  six 
great  Corinthian  columns,  equal  in  height  to  the  two 
first  stories  of  the  edifice.  This  entire  wing  was  nearly 
finished  by  1663.  There  remained  only  the  completion 
of  the  eastern  end,  which  was  to  be  the  principal  en- 
trance to  the  Louvre.  Levau  had  his  designs  ready,  and 
had  begun  to  lay  his  foundations  when  Colbert  was 
named  superintendent  of  the  royal  buildings. 

For  reasons  best  known  to  himself  Colbert  professed 
to  believe  that  it  was  quite  possible  to  find  an  architect 
of  more  abilit}^  and  originality  than  Levau.  Perhaps  he 


ibistorg  of  tbe  Xouvre 


17 


knew  that  some  daring  innovation  on  his  part  would 
make  him  more  pleasing  in  the  sight  of  that  king  whom 
Bolingbroke  epitomized  as  “the  best  actor  of  majesty 
the-  world  had  ever  seen,”  and  who  demanded  on  the 
part  of  his  subjects  not  only  abject  servility,  but  never- 
ceasing  change  and  amusement.  At  all  events,  Colbert 
called  for  plans  for  the  completion  of  the  Louvre  quad- 
rangle from  all  the  architects  of  France.  Among  the 
drawings  submitted  was  one  that  attracted  particular 
attention.  It  represented  a long  series  of  Corinthian 
columns,  joined  two  by  two,  and  resting  upon  an  im- 
mense basement.  Under  the  entablature  which  was 
carried  by  these  principal  columns,  and  formed  the  roof, 
was  a simple  line  of  open  balusters.  This  original, 
imposing  plan  was  not  by  an  architect,  but  by  a doctor, 
Qaude  Perrault.  Colbert  was  charmed,  and  wished  to 
adopt  it,  but  before  deciding  upon  such  a radical  depar- 
ture he  sent  to  Poussin  in  Rome  the  plans  of  Levau  and 
others  of  the  contestants.  Perrault’s,  however,  he  did  not 
forward.  Poussin  returned  the  plans,  overwhelmed  with 
criticisms,  but  added  to  them  new  ones  of  his  own. 
These  pleased  neither  Colbert  nor  Louis. 

At  this  juncture  a new  claimant  appeareid.  Bernini, 
“ that  prince  of  mediocrity,”  though  now  an  old  man,  was 
still  pretty  generally  considered  the  greatest  living 
architect.  Colbert  was  pressed  by  the  Abbe  Benedetti 
and  the  Cardinal  Chigi,  and  finally  by  Pope  Alexander 
\ 11.  to  put  the  Louvre  into  bis  hands.  The  minister 
was  too  mucli  of  a Frenchman  to  acquiesce  with  unallo^■ed 
delight,  but  at  last,  urged  thereto  by  the  king',  he  com- 
missioned the  Due  de  Crequy,  ambassador  at  Rome,  to 
beg  the  famous  man  to  come  to  Paris.  In  his  own 
estimation  Bernini  was  fully  as  g'reat  as  he  was  in  the 
estimation  of  the  world  generally.  The  Due  de  Crequy 


i8 


Ube  art  of  tbe  Xouvre 


could  not  persuade  him  that  it  would  be  possible  for 
him  to  make  such  an  arduous  journey  till  the  king  him- 
self had  sent  an  autograph  letter  personally  requesting 
the  inestimable  favour  of  his  presence  and  advice.  This, 
of  course,  brought  the  Italian.  He  found  it  was  not 
altogether  easy  sailing,  however,  once  he  was  on  French 
soil.  His  plans  were  received  with,  to  him,  incredible 
criticism,  and  the  opposition  grew  at  length  so  strong 
that  finally  the  king  gave  him  a large  present  and  a 
pension  and  sent  him  home. 

After  this  Colbert  hesitated  no  longer.  Perrault  began 
the  work,  and  the  first  stone  was  laid  by  Louis  XIV.  on 
October  17,  1665.  Owing  to  the  enormous  activity  of 
Colbert  the  new  fagade  was  finished  in  1670.  The  lower 
part  making  the  base  was  a smooth  wall  pierced  by 
twenty-three  openings.  Above  this  were  fifty-two  col- 
umns and  pilasters  of  Corinthian  order,  joined  two  by 
two.  The  same  order  and  the  arrangement  of  coupling 
were  repeated  in  the  two  corner  pavilions.  In  the  base 
of  the  central  pavilion,  opening  into  the  rue  de  Louvre, 
was  put  the  principal  entrance  of  the  palace. 

With  an  imposing  and  monumental  aspect,  the  colon- 
nade is  marked  with  great  nobleness  and  grandeur. 
Nevertheless,  it  has  been  the  subject  of  much  criticism. 
Among  other  things,  it  is  said  that  it  is  difficult  to  justify 
the  situation  of  that  immense  portico  in  the  first  stor}' ; 
second,  the  interruption  of  the  same  story  by  tbe  over- 
elevation of  the  principal  portal,  is  a grave  fault;  third, 
the  whole  fagade  is  not  in  harmony  with  the  style  of 
the  four  interior  fagades  that  make  the  admirable  court 
of  the  Louvre ; and,  fourth,  the  architectural  forms  of 
the  colonnade  are  not  suitable  for  the  materials  used, 
compelling  recourse  to  artificial  consolidations,  — which 
is  contrary  to  the  principles  of  the  art  of  building. 


perrault’s  colonnade,  the  louvre 


1 


Distors  of  tbe  Xouvre 


19 


In  spite  of  these  just  criticisms,  many  authorities 
return  to  the  opinion  that  the  work  of  Perrault  is  among 
the  most  original  and  remarkable  of  modern  architects. 
For  long  regarded  as  the  chef-d’oeuvre  without  equal,  it 
has,  as  has  been  said,  exercised  upon  the  architecture  in 
France  an  influence  that  is  considerable  and  that  still 
endures. 

Perrault  had  no  sooner  finished  the  colonnade  than  he 
began  to  occupy  himself  with  joining  it  to  the  former 
constructions.  By  1680,  however,  Louis  had  tired  of  the 
Louvre,  and  was  wholly  absorbed  with  the  building 
plans  for  Versailles.  There  was  no  money  left  for  Paris, 
and  finally,  when  in  1688  Perrault  died,  the  great  palace 
was  once  more  abandoned.  From  then  till  Marigny  was 
made  director  of  fine  arts  in  1754,  the  Louvre  was  a place 
of  desolation.  Rooms  in  it  were  let  out  to  needy 
hangers-on  of  the  court,  to  artists,  and  to  nondescripts 
of  all  sorts.  No  care  was  taken  of  interior  or  exterior, 
no  repairs  of  any  kind  made.  In  the  courts  and  gardens 
all  sorts  of  rickety  buildings  were  erected  for  all  sorts 
of  purposes,  some  leaning  against  the  palace  walls,  others 
huddled  in  groups  outside  the  gates.  That  which  for 
centuries  had  been  the  pride  of  royalty  became  a squatting- 
ground  for  the  petty  merchant,  the  fakir,  the  mendicant. 

Perhaps  the  names  of  Pompadour  and  Du  Barry  best 
recall  that  puppet  king  whose  jaunty  phrase,  “ Apr es  moi 
le  deluge,”  was  so  typical  of  all  the  selfish  callousness, 
not  only  of  himself,  but  of  the  epoch.  It  is  rather  sur- 
prising, considering  the  nature  of  Louis  XV.,  that  he 
took  any  interest  in  the  gaunt,  gloomy  palace  he  kept 
away  from.  Nevertheless,  Marigny  persuaded  him  to 
sanction  his  plans  for  putting  it  into  some  kind  of 
reputable  condition.  Gabriel  superintended  the  new 
work.  He  continued  the  three  exterior  fagades  in  the 


20 


Ube  Hrt  ot  tbe  Xouvre 


style  that  had  so  far  governed,  but  he  introduced  certain 
changes  in  the  great  vestibule  which  to-day  looks  over 
the  rue  de  Marengo,  — a vestibule  commenced  by 
Lemercier,  continued  by  Perrault,  and  not  entirely 
finished  in  decoration  until  Soufflot.  In  spite  of  ]\Iari- 
gny’s  efforts,  in  1774,  when  the  ill-fated  Louis  XVI. 
succeeded,  the  condition  of  the  palace  of  his  ancestors 
was  not  unlike  the  state  in  which  he  found  his  king- 
dom. If  the  former  was  not  tottering  to  its  very  founda- 
tions, it  was  at  least  despoiled  of  all  its  grandeur.  Its 
walls  were  almost  lost  in  the  clustering  buildings  that 
barnacle-like  clung  to  its  sides  to  a height  far  above  the 
res-de-chatissee.  Louis  XVI.  had  his  hands  too  full  of 
other  threatening  ruin  to  do  much  for  the  palace. 
Nevertheless,  he  ordered  the  courts  cleared  so  far  as 
possible  of  this  rubbish  of  years,  and  put  architect 
Brebion  in  charge  of  what  alterations  could  be  attempted. 
Brebion  succeeded  in  finishing  the  new  vestibule,  which 
was  opened  on  the  Seine  side  almost  on  the  identical  spot 
where  had  been  the  ancient  door  of  Charles  V.  But 
the  days  had  come  when  the  Old  Regime  was  to  build 
no  more.  Perishing  in  the  flames  of  its  own  oppression, 
callousness,  wantonness  and  ignorance,  it  was  to  be  held 
for  three  years  a quaking  prisoner  in  the  palace  it  had 
meant  to  make  one  with  this  most  ancient  seat  of  its 
forbears. 

From  early  in  the  reign  of  Louis  X\N.,  and  during  all 
the  scenes  of  horror  of  the  Revolution,  the  Louvre  was 
left  to  a destruction  that  m.ade  its  condition  in  the  days 
of  Pompadour  and  Du  Barry  seem  respectable.  In 
the  court  and  all  through  the  Place  du  Carrousel,  the 
dirty,  low,  tumbledown  houses,  shops  and  stables  grew 
apace,  crowding  against  each  other,  making  narrow, 
refuse-filled  alleys,  clinging  like  leeches  to  the  palace 


Ibistors  of  tbe  Xouvre 


21 


walls,  darkening  all  its  windows,  till,  as  one  writer  puts 
it,  the  whole  conglomeration  was  like  a rag  fair  rather 
than  a famous  palace  and  its  environs.  But  within  the 
building  itself,  the  desecration  was  even  worse.  Where 
before  had  been  a few  artists  and  court  pensionnaires,  the 
rooms  now  fairly  swarmed  with  a herd  of  dirty,  im- 
poverished disreputables  of  all  conditions.  If  there  were 
some  able  artists  and  writers  among  the  lot,  even  they 
could  not  be  said  to  show  any  reverence  or  care  for  the 
palace  they  were  helping  to  destroy.  Windows  were 
blocked  up  and  torn  down.  Partition  walls  were  bored 
through  to  make  ugly  entrances,  and  the  enormous 
galleries  were  divided  and  subdivided  by  hastily  erected 
partitions  that  were  constructed  regardless  of  the  ruin 
of  beautiful  carving  or  decoration.  The  halls  were  piled 
with  refuse  and  plunder,  tottering  stairways  were  thrown 
up  anywhere,  cutting  through  ceilings  or  floors  without 
compunction.  Out  of  the  windows  iron  stovepipes 
belched  smoke  and  soot  into  the  very  eyes  of  passers-by. 
Before  long  the  lower  halls  were  used  for  stables,  and 
everywhere  was  pandemonium.  To  such  estate  had 
fallen  the  palace  which  Francois  I.  planned  should  be 
a Renaissance  dream  of  beauty.  And  apparently  no 
one  cared.  The  very  artists  were  helping  to  make  it 
hideous.  It  was  during  these  years  of  neglect  that  the 
ditch  and  the  entire  substructure  of  both  Lemercier’s  and 
Perrault’s  work  got  entirely  buried  beneath  the  rubbish 
that  was  continually  piled  higher  and  higher.  This 
substructure  was  finally  forgotten,  and  it  was  not  till 
the  later  part  of  1903  that,  through  M.  Redon,  it  was 
once  more  partly  brought  to  light. 

No  sooner  had  the  Republic  arisen  from  the  ruins 
that  had  created  it,  than  the  restoration  of  the  Louvre 
became  one  of  its  chief  objects.  First  was  cleared  out 


22 


Zbc  art  of  tbe  Xouvre 


the  army  of  pensioners  and  noble  beggars,  only  the 
artists  and  their  ateliers  being  allowed  to  remain. 
David  was  at  this  time  the  most  distinguished  occupant 
of  these.  Finally,  under  the  consulate,  nearly  all  the 
painters  were  transferred  to  the  Sorbonne,  and  the  whole 
palace  was  given  up  to  the  treasures  that  Napoleon’s 
triumphs  secured.  These,  it  w^as  determined,  should  be 
properly  and  beautifully  housed  in  the  Louvre  for  the 
benefit  of  the  people.  Raymond,  and  later,  Percier  and 
Fontaine,  were  charged  with  the  task  of  reconstructing 
the  rooms  and  halls.  By  1803,  working  with  extraor- 
dinary vigour,  they  had  entirely  remodelled  the  great 
gallery  where  were  to  be  placed  the  works  of  the  Italian 
School.  Napoleon  as  First  Consul,  and  as  Emperor, 
carried  on  the  work  the  Republic  had  begun.  With 
much  bad  taste,  however,  he  went  against  the  advice  of 
the  architects  who  wished  to  continue  the  plans  of 
Lescot  in  the  attic  of  the  wings.  He  determined  instead, 
on  all  sides  except  the  west,  to  build  a third  story  after 
the  plans  of  Perrault.  Thus  came  the  end  of  that 
nobly  harmonious  Court  of  the  Louvre.  Besides  adding 
this  story  to  the  quadrangle  of  the  Louvre,  he  purposed 
to  throw  out  a line  of  buildings  that  would  join  the 
Louvre  to  the  Tuileries  on  the  north,  as  it  was  already 
joined  on  the  south.  Percier  and  Fontaine  had  charge 
of  the  plans,  which  they  prepared  and  showed  to  the 
government  in  1813.  But  Napoleon’s  overthrow  pre- 
vented their  fulfilment. 

When  Louis  XVIII.  became  head  of  the  reconstructed 
monarchy,  he  continued  the  work  on  the  Louvre.  The 
sculptures  on  the  walls  of  the  court  were  finished,  and 
the  rooms  in  the  first  story  of  all  four  wings  were  pre- 
pared to  receive  their  decorations. 

Under  Charles  X.  these  were  executed  with  great 


Ibistori?  ot  tbe  Xouvrc 


23 


richness,  both  with  painting  and  sculpture.  Finally, 
after  the  unstable,  phcenix-like  nation  had  recovered 
from  the  revolution  of  1830,  and  Louis  Philippe  was  at 
the  head  of  the  government,  came  again  the  question  of 
joining  the  Tuileries  and  Louvre  on  the  north.  M. 
Thiers,  then  minister,  presented  the  project  to  the 
Chambers,  demanding  a hundred  million  francs  for  the 
many  monuments  necessary  if  the  continuation  was  com- 
pleted. The  mere  building  of  the  wings  that  should 
unite  the  two  would  cost  but  fourteen  millions.  The 
scheme  did  not  become  fact,  and  it  was  practically  the 
same  one  that  Comte  Jaubert  brought  up  in  1843. 
Four  days  after  the  revolution  of  1848,  a decree  eman- 
ating from  the  government  ordered  the  completion  of  the 
Louvre,  now  called  the  Palace  of  the  People.  General 
Cavaignac  the  same  year  put  to  vote  a bill  proposing  the 
restoration  of  the  two  great  salons  of  the  Louvre  and 
of  the  Galerie  d’Apollon.  It  was  M.  Duban,  architect, 
who  superintended  this  restoration  in  a most  intelligent 
manner.  Then  the  Assembly  tried  to  carry  through  the 
old  project  of  the  28th  of  February,  after  the  revolution 
of  1848,  of  joining  the  Tuileries  and  Louvre.  The  plan 
submitted  was  by  M.  Visconti,  and  is  essentially  what  we 
now  see,  with  only  slight  modifications.  This  Assembly, 
however,  did  not  act  upon  it,  and  it  was  left  for  the  next 
to  ratify  it. 

Napoleon  III.  was  now  emperor,  and  whatever  crimes 
may  be  laid  at  his  door,  he  at  least  was  earnest  in  his 
desire  to  beautify  Paris.  Work  was  commenced  on  the 
Louvre  July  25,  1854,  under  the  direction  and  after  the 
plans  of  Visconti.  Dying  at  the  end  of  that  year,  he 
was  succeeded  by  M.  Lefuel,  who  at  certain  points 
slightly  modified  the  designs  of  his  predecessor.  Five 
years  after  all  the  constructions  were  finished. 


24 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


To  unite  the  Tuileries  and  Louvre,  they  began  by 
clearing  the  Carrousel  of  the  parasitic  buildings  that 
still  encumbered  it,  and  then  proceeded  to  finish  the 
northern  wing  which  Napoleon  I.  and  Louis  XVIII.  had 
only  half  accomplished.  Besides  continuing  this  northern 
wing  till  it  formed  a complete  connection  between  the 
two  palaces,  Lefuel  threw  out  from  the  half  nearest  the 
Louvre,  short  transverse  lines  to  the  south,  and  joined 
them  with  a wing  that,  slightly  at  an  angle  to  the  north- 
ern wing,  was  on  an  exact  line  with  the  northern 
boundary  of  the  Old  Louvre.  This  arrangement  helped 
to  conceal  the  lack  of  parallelism  between  the  Tuileries 
and  the  Louvre.  From  the  eastern  end  of  the  southern 
long  wing,  he  built  a similar  construction  on  the  north. 
In  each  of  these  two  masses  of  buildings,  the  cross- 
sections  made  three  open  courts,  which  were  to  be  used 
as  gardens.  Besides  these  additions,  parts  of  new 
interior  fagades  were  also  added  to  that  portion  of  the 
wings  nearest  the  Tuileries. 

Considered  as  a whole,  these  plans,  which  in  the  main 
are  Visconti’s,  were  such  that  much  of  the  simple  gran- 
deur and  fine  lines  of  the  old  buildings  were  destroyed. 
The  new  fagades  on  the  Place  du  Carrousel  were  at  the 
same  time  mean  and  banal,  and  of  an  amplitude  and 
exuberance  beyond  description.  In  general,  the  Avhole 
addition  has,  as  has  often  been  noted,  an  appearance  of 
theatrical  decoration  without  accent  or  depth,  a luxury 
without  reason,  a lack  of  harmony,  and  a manifest  dis- 
proportion between  the  framework  and  the  ornamentation. 
The  six  enormous  pavilions  add  to  this  ruination  of  pro- 
portion and  measure.  They  are  covered  with  an  incalcu- 
lable number  of  ornaments,  of  a pell-mell  of  flowers,  fruits, 
garlands,  figures,  etc.,  and  present  immense  holes,  badly 
measured  arcades  and  gigantic  coronations.  Placed  in 


GENERAL  VIEW  OF  THE  LOUVRE 


Ibxstori?  of  tbe  Xouvre 


25 


every  conceivable  spot  on  the  fagades  of  these  new  build- 
ings are  caryatides,  colossal  statues  (among  them  eighty- 
six  of  eminent  Frenchmen),  and  unlimited  groups  of 
sculpture,  of  which  sixty-three  are  of  allegorical  char- 
acter. Most  of  these  are  far  from  the  highest  art  achieve- 
ments and  in  the  main  serve  only  to  accentuate  the  over- 
elaboration of  this  Napoleonic  structure. 

And  yet,  when  every  adverse  criticism  has  been  made, 
and  most  of  them  even  recognized  to  be  just,  it  is  still 
true,  as  has  been  in  varying  words  so  often  stated,  that 
the  Louvre  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  examples  of 
the  French  Renaissance,  and  one  of  the  most  wonderful 
palaces  in  the  world.  So  wonderful  and  beautiful  both 
in  its  interior  and  exterior  that  the  gravest  faults  of  its 
construction  cannot  spoil  its  tremendous  worth  as  a 
whole. 


CHAPTER  II. 


CONCERNING  THE  ORIGIN  AND  GROWTH  OF  THE 
PICTURE  - GALLERY 

The  first  of  the  museums  of  the  world,  is  the  probably 
undisputed  rank  of  the  Louvre.  There  are  others,  cer- 
tainly, that  possess  individual  treasures  more  valuable 
perhaps  than  any  among  its  collection.  If  it  can  claim  the 
Venus,  London  has  the  Parthenon  fragments.  If  the 
Victory  of  Samothrace  stands  guard  within  its  portals, 
Olympia  still  keeps  the  Hermes,  and  Rome  holds  the 
Mercury,  the  Apollo  Belvedere,  the  Torso,  and  the 
Laocoon.  Even  its  collection  of  paintings,  rich,  wonder- 
ful and  tremendous  as  it  is,  does  not  for  the  most  part 
contain  the  greatest  works  of  the  greatest  masters.  None 
of  its  Raphaels  can  compare  with  the  Sistine  Madonna 
or  the  Vatican  frescoes.  Michelangelo,  of  course,  can 
only  be  known  in  Rome.  Leonardo,  indeed,  is  there 
almost  at  his  highest  in  the  Gioconda,  but  I\Iilan  claims 
the  Last  Supper.  Titian’s  Entombment,  and  Man  with 
the  Glove,  are  not  far  from  its  greatest  expression,  but 
Rome  has  his  Sacred  and  Profane  Love,  Florence  his 
Venus,  and  Venice  his  Presentation  of  the  Virgin,  — 
to  mention  only  these  among  their  many.  The  most 
wonderful  productions  of  Velasquez,  Rembrandt,  and 
Van  Dyck  are  in  other  galleries.  And  so  it  goes.  Of 
men  of  both  earlier  and  later  date,  Italy,  rather  than 

26 


©dQin  of  tbe  lpictui:es>(3allcr^ 


27 


Paris,  retains  their  masterworks.  Yet,  if  many  of  the 
unapproachable  creations  of  the  artistic  world  are  not 
found  in  the  Louvre,  it  does  possess  an  unrivalled  collec- 
tion of  representative  and  noble  works  of  almost  all 
the  great  painters  of  all  time.  It  is  this  general  and 
very  unusual  excellence,  joined  to  its  vast  numbers,  that 
puts  this  museum  at  the  head  of  all  European  galleries, 
and  makes  a thorough  study  of  it  a study  really  of  the 
art  of  the  world. 

The  picture-galleries  of  the  Louvre  are  on  the  first 
floor,  and  occupy  a part  of  the  western  side  of  the  old 
quadrangle,  and  then  continue  with  the  Salle  Lacaze,  into 
the  Salon  Carre,  and  from  there  through  the  Galerie 
d’Apollon  to  the  end  of  the  Rubens  room,  which  fills  the 
long  gallery  over  the  rez-de-chaussee  of  Catherine  de’ 
Medici  and  the  Napoleonic  additions  of  the  southern 
wing  of  the  Louvre.  With  these  are  the  three  rooms 
opened  in  1903,  which  are  in  the  second  story,  beyond  the 
Musee  de  Marine. 

It  may  be  well  to  say  here  that  besides  its  collection 
of  paintings,  within  the  Louvre  are  galleries  of  drawings, 
engravings,  ancient  sculpture,  sculpture  of  the  middle 
ages  and  the  Renaissance,  modern  French  sculpture, 
Assyrian  antiquities,  Egyptian  antiquities,  Greek  and 
Etruscan  antiquities,  the  Algerine  Museum,  the  Marine 
Museum,  the  Ethnographical  Museum,  a collection  of 
enamels  and  jewels,  the  Sauvageot,  the  Campana,  the 
Oriental  and  Le  Noir  Museums. 

Containing  now  almost  three  thousand  works,  the 
picture-gallery  has  grown  to  such  proportions  through 
centuries  of  effort.  To  Francois  I.  is  due  the  first  in- 
ception of  the  art  collections  of  the  Louvre.  This 
sovereign  acquired,  during  his  Italian  wars,  a decided 
artistic  taste,  which  he  proceeded  to  satisfy  in  a truly 


28 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  3Louv>re 


royal  manner.  Since  France  had  no  great  artists,  he 
would  import  into  that  country  all  whom  he  could  per- 
suade tO'  leave  their  sunny  Italy.  Leonardo  da  Vinci 
was  the  most  famous  of  those,  but  his  greatest  work  had 
been  already  accomplished  before  he  found  in  the  French 
court  a refuge  from  his  troubles.  Besides  him  and 
Andrea  del  Sarto,  Frangois  succeeded  in  getting  various 
others  of  lesser  fame,  and  his  court  was  a veritable  Gol- 
conda  for  all  artistic  talent.  When  he  could  not  induce 
the  painters  themselves  to  leave  Italy,  he  ordered  great 
numbers  of  works  from  them.  Leonardo’s  Gioconda, 
and  Virgin  of  the  Rocks,  Raphael’s  Holy  Family  and  St. 
Michael,  Sebastiano  del  Piombo’s  Visitation,  and  Andrea 
del  Sarto’s  Charity,  were  among  those  he  purchased,  and 
they  are  to  be  seen  at  the  Louvre  to-day.  Not  only  did 
he  care  for  paintings  and  sculpture,  but  he  developed  a 
fondness  for  all  sorts  of  objects  of  art  and  antiquity,  such 
as  bronzes,  medallions,  jewels,  cameos,  intaglios,  etc. 
At  one  time  he  brought  from  Italy  124  antique 
statues  and  reliefs,  and  a great  number  of  busts.  It 
was  at  Fontainebleau,  where  the  new  school  of  art  under 
Italian  influences  was  begun,  that  he  stored  his  acquired 
treasures.  The  collection  received  little  addition  till  the 
time  of  Louis  XIII.  A writer  in  1692  said  that  this 
king  found  forty-seven  paintings  in  his  cabinet.  IMany 
of  the  valued  gems  of  Frangois  had  been  dispersed,  no 
one  could  say  where.  Among  those  mentioned  at  the 
close  of  the  seventeenth  century  were  two  by  Andrea  del 
Sarto,  one  by  Fra  Bartolommeo,  one  by  Paris  Bordone, 
fourteen  by  Ambroise  Dubois,  two  by  Clouet,  four  by 
Leonardo  da  Vinci,  one  by  Michelangelo,  — which  was 
the  Leda,  since  destroyed,  — three  by  Perugino,  two  by 
Primaticcio,  four  by  Raphael,  three  by  Sebastiano  del 
Piombo  and  one  by  Titian. 


©dgin  of  tbe  ipicture^0aller^ 


29 


These  had  been  increased  to  about  two  hundred  when 
Louis  XIV.  came  to  the  throne.  At  his  death  the  cabinet 
held  more  than  two  thousand.  Colbert,  he  who  discovered 
Perrault,  the  architect  of  the  colonnade  of  the  Louvre, 
was  also  the  minister  who  brought  about  such  an  enor- 
mous increase  to  the  royal  collection.  He  spared  neither 
time,  pains,  nor  money  in  adding  to  it,  and  gave  its  care 
and  direction  to  the  painter  Le  Brun. 

The  banker  Jabach,  of  Cologne,  had  acquired  a large 
part  of  the  art  treasures  of  Charles  I.  of  England,  and 
had  transported  them  to  Paris.  Ruined  finally  by  his 
love  of  the  beautiful,  he  was  obliged  to  sell  at  a great 
sacrifice.  Part  went  to  Mazarin,  and  part,  mostly  draw- 
ings, was  bought  by  the  King  of  France.  At  the  death 
of  Mazarin,  Colbert  purchased  for  Louis  XIV.  all  the 
objects  of  art  left  by  the  minister.  These  consisted 
or  546  original  paintings,  92  copies,  130  statues,  196 
busts,  etc.  Other  acquisitions  made  in  various  ways 
and  various  countries  included  works  of  masters  not  in 
this  or  Jabach’s  collection.  For  awhile  the  king’s  cabinet 
was  taken  over  to  Paris  and  lodged  in  the  Louvre,  in 
the  very  place  where,  more  than  a century  later,  the 
Convention  created  and  organized  the  National  Museum. 

The  Mercnre  Galant  of  December,  1681,  gives  this 
account  of  the  opening  of  the  gallery;  “ On  Friday,  the 
5th  of  the  month,  the  king  graced  Paris  with  his  presence, 
and  came  to  the  old  Louvre  to  visit  his  cabinet  of  pictures. 
It  is  in  a new  apartment  near  the  splendid  gallery  called 
‘ Galerie  d’Apollon.’  . . . What  is  called  the  cabinet 
of  his  Majesty’s  pictures,  in  the  old  Louvre,  comprises 
seven  large  and  very  high  halls,  some  of  which  are  more 
than  fifty  feet  in  length.  Besides  those,  there  are  four 
others  in  the  old  Hotel  de  Grammont,  that  adjoins  the 
Louvre  . . . Among  the  greatest  of  the  pictures  are 


30 


XEbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


sixteen  by  Raphael,  six  by  Correggio,  ten  by  Leonardo, 
eight  by  Giorgione,  four  by  Palma  Vecchio,  twenty-three 
by  Titian,  eighteen  by  Paolo  Veronese,  fourteen  by  Van 
Dyck,  etc.”  So  that  one  would  say,  even  while  it  held 
Napoleon’s  spoils,  the  Louvre  was  scarcely  richer  in  the 
works  of  the  masters  of  the  Renaissance. 

Not  long,  however,  did  it  keep  these  marvels.  Louis 
wished  them  where  he  could  see  them  oftener,  and  where 
his  view  would  be  undisturbed  by  the  public.  He  there- 
fore moved  most  of  them  to  Versailles,  where  they  were 
scattered  in  different  rooms,  and  were  of  little  use  for 
the  instruction  of  artists  or  public. 

During  the  reign  of  Louis  XV.,  a critic.  La  Font  de 
Saint  Yenne,  discoursed  loudly  against  this  burying  of 
these  great  treasures  of  France,  and  claimed  they  should 
be  put  where  the  people  might  have  a chance  to  see 
them,  and  where  artists  and  students  could  study  them. 
Four  years  later  this  was  really  done  under  orders  of 
the  Marquis  de  Marigny,  director  of  buildings,  he  who 
attempted  to  restore  the  Louvre  to  something  of  its 
original  noble  estate.  He  charged  Bailly,  guardian  of  the 
pictures  of  the  king,  to  put  them  into  the  apartments  of 
the  Luxembourg,  which  the  Queen  of  Spain  had  occupied. 
Here,  on  October  14,  1750,  were  opened  to  the  public 
about  one  hundred  and  ten  pictures.  Few  as  the  number, 
they  represented  at  least  the  most  valuable  part  of  the 
king’s  entire  collection.  On  Wednesday  and  Saturday 
the  public  in  general  were  granted  admittance.  Other 
days  were  reserved  for  artists  and  students.  On  the 
same  days  and  hours  Rubens’s  IMedici  gallery  was  also 
open. 

Up  to  the  time  of  Louis  XVI.  the  collection  remained 
divided,  part  in  the  Luxembourg,  another  and  much 
larger  part  at  Versailles.  At  the  Louvre,  meanwhile. 


®ri0in  of  tbe  lPicture*<Ballerg 


31 


were  about  ten  thousand  drawings,  and  in  the  Galerie 
d’Apollon,  which  served  as  a studio  for  six  proteges  of 
the  king,  were  the  Battles  of  Alexander,  and  certain 
other  pictures  of  Le  Brun,  Mignard  and  Rigaud.  This 
continued  till  1775.  About  that  time  Comte  d’Angiviller, 
director  of  the  palaces,  wished  to  collect  all  the  great 
works  in  painting  or  sculpture  owned  by  the  king,  and 
to  put  them  all  into  the  Louvre.  The  writers  of  the 
day  highly  praised  his  plan,  especially  M.  de  la  Conda- 
mine.  But  nothing  was  actually  done,  and,  the  Luxem- 
bourg being  at  the  same  time  given  over  to  other  uses, 
the  pictures  were  all  taken  back  once  more  to  Versailles. 

It  was  left  for  the  Revolution  to  act  upon  M. 
d’Angiviller’s  suggestion.  The  National  Assembly,  the 
Legislative  Assembly,  the  Convention,  one  after  another 
dealt  with  the  question,  and  finally  carried  it  out  as 
far  as  they  were  able.  The  Louvre  was  called  first  the 
Museum  de  la  Republique,  then  the  Museum  Frangais, 
and  the  Musee  Central  des  Arts.  It  was  opened  to  the 
public  November  8,  1793.  It  was  doubtless  a good  deal 
of  a helter-skelter  placing,  in  rooms  where  there  was 
no  proper  arrangement.  The  painters  still  retained  their 
studios,  and  everywhere  remained  the  confusion  and  dirt 
of  the  old  days.  Etienne  Delecluse,  who  was  a pupil  of 
David,  and  later  critic  of  arts  of  the  Debats,  gives  a vivid 
description  of  the  deplorable  state  of  affairs  both  within 
and  without  the  building. 

Meanwhile  the  city  of  Versailles  had  seriously  objected 
to  losing  its  art  treasures,  and  for  some  time  the  col- 
lection that  was  opened  in  the  Louvre  lacked  many  of  the 
masterpieces  which  were  there.  “ It  was  not  till  the 
month  of  ‘ Thermidor,’  year  II.,  that  Varon,  a member  of 
the  Conservatoire,  or  board  of  trustees  of  the  museum, 
obtained  the  delivery  of  these  pictures.”  It  is  interesting 


32 


Ubt  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvrc 


to  note  that  the  Republic  subscribed  one  hundred  thou- 
sand livres  per  annum  for  the  purpose  of  buying  pictures 
exposed  at  private  sales  in  foreign  countries,  or  which 
were  likely  to  go  there,  — a sum  considerably  larger  than 
the  budgets  of  later  times  have  allowed  for  such  purpose. 

This  interest  in  preserving  and  adding  to  the  art 
treasures  that  France,  having  guillotined  their  owners, 
could  claim  for  her  own,  is  the  more  amazing  when  one 
reflects  upon  the  times  which  gave  it  expression.  Almost, 
one  is  tempted  to  say,  it  was  the  only  sane,  creditable, 
and  intelligent  act  of  that  entire  bloody  reign. 

After  Napoleon’s  wars,  the  museum  was  named  for 
him,  and  well  it  might  be.  From  Italy,  Holland,  Austria, 
and  Spain  came  the  caravans  of  precious  objects  which 
he  had  pillaged.  Immense  wagons,  carts,  vans  of  every 
description  were  laden  with  boxes  and  bales  to  the  number 
of  thousands.  As  they  were  landed  from  the  ships  on 
the  Seine,  the  Parisians  swarmed  over  the  quays  in  vast 
herds,  greeting  each  new  arrival  with  cheers.  The  huge 
crates  were  all  marked  with  the  names  of  their  contents, 
and  as  one  after  another  was  carried  away,  the  crowds 
would  fall  in  behind,  screaming  a welcome  to  the  pic- 
tures or  statues,  and  escort  them  in  triumph  to  the 
Louvre.  These  processions  have  Teen  likened  to  Cjesar’s 
triumphal  returns  to  Rome,  laden  with  the  spoils  and 
captives  of  his  conquered  countries.  Rather,  perhaps, 
to  our  modern  vision  do  they  suggest  a mammoth  circus 
parade,  where,  instead  of  the  fearsome  inscriptions  of 
Lion  or  Tiger  upon  the  great  travelling  arks,  one  might 
read,  “ Titian’s  Assumption  of  the  Virgin,”  “ Miracle  of 
St.  Mark,  Tintoretto,”  “Descent  from  the  Cross, 
Rubens,”  “ Communion  of  St.  Jerome,  Domenichino.” 

It  is  not  at  all  to  be  wondered  at,  after  the  allies  had 
finally  overthrown  Napoleon,  that  France  bitterly  objected 


®dain  of  tbe  |pfctures(BalIer^ 


33 


to  returning  all  these  treasures  to  the  countries  from 
which  they  had  been  taken.  She  claimed  that  many  had 
been  ceded  in  the  treaties  of  peace  after  Napoleon’s  Italian 
wars,  and  as  such  were  for  ever  hers.  They  were  not 
pillage,  she  asserted,  but  honourable  fruits  of  Napoleon’s 
victories.  So  reluctant  were  the  directors  of  the  museum 
to  loosen  their  hold  on  these  gems  that  all  sorts  of  ex- 
pedients were  resorted  to.  Pictures  and  statues  suddenly 
disappeared.  Records  as  to  where  certain  objects  came 
from  were  lost ; and  when  a country  claimed  this  or 
that,  the  government  stoutly  maintained  the  impossibility 
of  proof  that  it  ever  belonged  to  the  nation  claiming  it. 
More  than  one  foreign  city  and  state  sent  in  final  despera- 
tion envoys  to  England  or  to  Wellington,  asking  his  aid 
in  the  recovery  of  their  old-time  possessions.  And  they 
did  not  ask  in  vain.  In  almost  all  important  cases  France 
was  forced  to  disgorge.  The  priceless  trophies  were  sent 
back,  and  the  Louvre  was  left  denuded.  To  read  some  of 
the  old  accounts  of  this  time,  it  would  seem  as  if  the 
directors  of  fine  arts,  and  curators  of  the  Louvre  more 
bitterly  mourned  this  loss  of  their  art  spoils  than  they 
did  the  overthrow  of  the  whole  country. 

To  help  fill  up  the  vacant  wall-spaces,  the  Louvre  took 
from  the  Luxembourg  the  Rubens  paintings,  comprising 
the  Medici  gallery,  Le  Sueur’s  Life  of  St.  Bruno,  Ports 
of  France,  by  Joseph  Vernet,  and  a few  more  that  had 
been  placed  there  in  1803. 

From  1817  to  1824,  under  Louis  XVIII.,  iii  pictures 
were  added,  costing  668,265  francs.  Under  Charles  X., 
in  six  years,  twenty-four  more  were  acquired,  at  a cost 
of  62,790  francs.  Louis  Philippe  spent  at  least  eleven 
million  francs  on  the  Versailles  museum,  and  the  Louvre 
therefore  gained  little,  costing  the  civil  list  only  74,132 
francs,  with  thirty-three  pictures  bought. 


34 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


The  Second  Republic  in  1848  voted  two  million  francs 
to  repair,  restore,  and  set  up  the  Galerie  d’Apollon,  the 
Salon  Carre,  the  Salle  des  Sept  Cheminees,  the  Grande 
Galerie,  the  halls  looking  on  the  river  and  the  halls  of  the 
Colonnade.  By  1851  the  pictures  were  chronologically 
arranged  as  well  as  possible  in  the  different  rooms. 
About  as  early  appeared  Frederic  Villot’s  excellent  cata- 
logue, still  a model.  The  Louvre  had  only  fifty  thousand 
francs  yearly  for  purchase-money,  but  the  National 
Assembly  added  to  that  sum  whenever  necessary,  sub- 
scribing one  hundred  thousand  francs  at  the  time  of  the 
art  sale  of  the  King  of  the  Low  Countries,  and  twenty-five 
thousand  francs  for  Gericault’s  Hunter  and  Cuirassier. 
In  1852  the  allowance  was  increased  to  one  hundred 
thousand  francs,  and  the  president  of  the  Republic,  by 
a decree,  granted  615,300  francs  for  purchasing  at  the 
Marshal  Soult’s  sale,  Murillo’s  Conception. 

During  the  Second  Empire,  about  two  hundred  paint- 
ings of  early  Italian  schools  came  with  the  acquisition  of 
the  Campana  Museum,  in  1862.  Besides  these,  from 
1854  to  1870  133  pictures  were  either  purchased  or 
donated.  This  does  not  include  the  splendid  Collection 
Lacaze  of  265  pictures,  which  was  presented  to  the 
museum  in  1869.  Since  then  the  museum  has  continued 
to  acquire  most  valuable  works,  both  by  purchase  and 
donation,  till,  when  the  end  of  the  nineteenth  century 
approached,  it  became  more  and  more  apparent  that 
the  old  rooms  were  all  too  crowded.  For  long,  the 
student  and  artist,  and  even  the  tourist,  had  felt  that  many 
of  the  most  important  paintings  were  so  badly  lighted 
that  any  real  knowledge  of  them  was  quite  impossible. 

Finally,  in  1900,  was  completed  what  might  well  be 
called  a “ New  Louvre.”  Evervlhing  was  perfectly 
arranged  and  accessible.  It  was  possible  to  go  from  one 


IMMACULATE  CONCEPTION 
By  Murillo 


©rigin  of  tbe  IPfcture^Gallers 


35 


room  and  one  department  to  another  without  climbing 
stairs  or,  as  in  the  old  time,  being  forced  to  go  outdoors 
from  one  big  court  to  another  to  obtain  entrance.  Schools 
were  hung  together,  overcrowded  walls  were  thinned 
down,  pictures  hidden  in  dark  corners  were  brought 
out  into  easy  light  and  vision.  Altogether  it  became  to 
sight,  as  it  was  before  in  intrinsic  value,  the  “ most 
splendid  and  attractive  museum  in  Europe.” 

There  are  still  changes  that  could  be  made,  especially 
to  give  the  great  French  collection  of  pictures  more 
room.  M.  Sandier,  in  a recent  article  in  Scribner’s 
Magazine,  points  out  that  to  accomplish  this  it  may  be 
necessary  to  unhouse  the  Ministry  of  the  Colonies.  That 
accomplished,  the  western  door  of  the  Rubens  hall  would 
open  into  what  is  known  as  the  Galeries  des  Gardes,  “ a 
gallery,”  says  M.  Sandier,  “ one  hundred  metres  long, 
leading  in  a direct  line  to  the  Pavilion  de  Flore.  This 
will  then  open  another  entrance  to  the  Louvre,  and  will 
connect  with  the  upper  story  by  the  great  stairway 
named  after  its  architect  Lefuel,  with  its  celebrated  ceil- 
ing by  Cabanel.” 

To  keep  sufficient  revenue  for  the  enormous  expenses 
of  the  museum,  — the  buying  and  caring  for  collections, 
the  salaries  of  officials,  etc.,  — the  Louvre  has  the  same 
right  as  the  Luxembourg,  Versailles  and  St.  Germain-en 
Laye.  This  is  called  “ la  personalite  civile,”  and  means 
that  the  museum  can,  like  private  individuals,  “ possess, 
buy,  and  sell,”  and  thus  has  its  own  income,  and  can  dis- 
pose of  its  own  belongings.  This  revenue  amounts  to 
more  than  four  hundred  thousand  francs  a year.  In  spite 
of  this  it  may  happen  that  the  Louvre  does  not  have  in 
hand  enough  money  to  purchase  some  important  works 
for  its  collections.  To  guard  against  this,  there  is  in 
Paris  an  association  called  “ La  Societe  des  Amis  du 


36 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


Louvre,”  “ whose  purpose  is  to  help  the  museum  to  the 
possession  of  works  of  great  importance,  and  worthy  to 
appear  in  its  galleries.  Already,  on  different  occasions, 
this  association  has  been  of  great  aid  to  the  museum.” 


PLAN  OF  THE  LOUVRI  ^GALLERY 

(For  convenience,  the  plan  hae  been  divided,  the  point  of  d,  ision  being  indicated  by  A A) 

A 


V X'Vi!  !' 

XXTX 

•XXSZ 

x-xrx 

XXIV 

XXXI 

XXDI 

XATITT 

xxxii 

^5001 

xxxm 

.XXI 

XXXE 

XX 

xxxx 

xxx 

XXXVIl 

1 

X5ZI1 

! 


A 

I.  Salle  Lacaze 
TI.  Salle  Henri  II. 

III.  Salle  des  Sept  Cheminees 

IV.  Salon  Carre 

V.  Salle  Duchatel 

VI.  Grande  Galerie 

VII.  Salle  des  Primitifs 

VIII.  Salle  des  fitats 

IX. -XIII.  Petites  Salles  Francaises 

XIV.  Salle  Mollien 

XV.  Salle  Denon 

XVI.  Salle  Darn 

XVII.  Salle  Van  Dyck 
XVIII.  Galerie  Rubens 

XIX. XXXVI.  Dutch  and  Flemish  Schools 


CHAPTER  III. 


SALLE  DES  PRIMITIFS  — ROOM  VII.  — ITALIAN  SCHOOL 

The  Salle  des  Primitifs,  sometimes  called  Salle  des 
Sept  Metres,  and  numbered  VII.  on  the  plan,  contains, 
as  its  name  denotes,  works  of  the  early  Renaissance 
masters.  Especially  rich  is  it  in  pictures  by  the  painters 
of  Florence,  one  of  the  first  of  the  Italian  cities  to  feel 
the  awakening  power  of  the  spirit  that  was  to  rejuvenate 
all  art  and  all  learning. 

Cimabue,  the  man  who  for  so  many  generations  was 
regarded  as  the  founder  of  all  modern  painting,  is  here, 
according  to  the  catalogue,  represented  by  one  Madonna. 
In  reality,  there  is  as  grave  doubt  about  the  authorship 
of  the  picture  as  there  is  about  his  real  right  to  the  title 
Vasari  claimed  for  him.  To-day,  criticism  has  proved 
that  not  a single  work  can  be  absolutely  certified  as  a 
Cimabue.  The  most  that  can  be  said  of  the  Madonna 
in  the  Louvre  is  that  it  bears  a strong  resemblance  to 
the  Rucellai  Madonna,  which  has  for  centuries  been 
attributed  to  Cimabue,  — though  many  critics  strenu- 
ously insist  that  even  that  altar-piece  is  not  by  his  hand. 
If  not  by  him,  this  one  here  is  probably  by  some  early 
Siennese  master,  and  in  spite  of  its  archaistic  attributes, 
— its  lack  of  form,  its  conventional  posing,  its  total 
absence  of  what  Mr.  Berenson  calls  “ tactile  values/’  — 

37 


38 


XTbe  Hrt  ot  tbe  Xouvre 


it  does  evince  a certain  improvement  over  the  rigidity 
of  the  Greek  and  the  Byzantine  schools. 

It  represents  the  Virgin  on  a high  architectural  throne, 
clad  in  a blue  mantle  that  closely  confines  her  head.  She 
holds  the  infant  Christ  upon  her  knee,  and  he  too  is 
wrapped  in  thick  folds  of  drapery,  beneath  which  his 
bare  feet  show.  With  his  right  hand  he  makes  the  sign 
of  blessing.  At  each  side  of  the  throne  are  three  winged 
angels,  arranged  without  any  regard  for  perspective,  one 
above  the  other,  so  that  only  the  lowest  is  seen  in  full 
length.  The  background  is  of  gold,  as  of  course  are 
the  halos.  The  draperies  also  were  once  sprinkled  with 
the  precious  metal,  but  they  have  been  repainted,  as  indeed 
have  the  background  and  many  parts  of  the  picture.  In 
the  borders  of  the  old  elaborate  Gothic  frame  are  twenty- 
six  medallions  of  the  busts  of  many  saints.  Most  of  these, 
too,  have  been  retouched. 

As  has  been  noted,  there  are  certain  hard  to  define 
but  none  the  less  appreciable  differences  between  this 
panel  and  others  of  the  same  or  earlier  date,  in  which 
the  rigidity  is  much  more  pronounced.  Nevertheless,  the 
long,  staring,  unseeing  eyes,  the  immobility  of  the 
countenance,  the  regularity  of  lines  — all  indicate  the 
Greek  style  of  painting  that  flourished  even  as  late  as  the 
beginning  of  the  fourteenth  century. 

The  Giotto  in  this  room  has  been  much  repainted,  but 
it  is  generally  regarded  as  an  authentic  piece  of  work. 

The  old  story  of  Giotto’s  youth  that  Vasari  tells,  which 
Leonardo  believed  and  retold  to  his  pupils,  is  now  dis- 
credited. Giotto  was  not  a shepherd  boy,  and  Cimabue 
did  not  discover  him  drawing  his  flock  on  the  rocks  or  bits 
of  stray  board.  What  he  was  is  rather  uncertain,  but 
he  probably  did  begin  to  study  with  Cimabue  early  in 
life.  Modern  criticism,  however,  now  seems  inclined 


Salle  &es  prlmltlfs 


39 


to  insist  that  he  owes  more  to  Pisano  and  Cavallini  than 
to  Cimabue.  He  is,  at  any  rate,  the  first  Italian  painter 
to  display  any  real  appreciation  of  actual  life.  For  the 
first  time  painted  figures  begin  really  to  stand,  to  walk, 
and,  most  wonderful  of  all,  are  so  depicted  that  one  feels 
it  possible  to  walk  between  them  and  their  background. 
Individual  character,  purposeful  gestures,  and  some 
attempt  at  anatomical  correctness  are  among  the  entirely 
new  achievements  of  this  first  great  modern. 

St.  Francis  of  Assisi  Receiving  the  Stigmata,  was 
painted  for  the  altar  of  San  Francesco  in  Assisi.  Ac- 
cording to  Vasari’s  pleasing  fiction,  the  picture  was  such 
an  object  of  veneration  to  the  Pisans  that  it  was  the 
cause  of  Giotto’s  being  summoned  to  their  city,  to  paint  in 
the  Campo  Santo  the  Trials  of  Job,  — these  in  their  turn 
bringing  an  invitation  from  the  Pope  to  go  to  Rome. 
The  St.  Francis  here  is  the  one  he  painted  for  Pisa,  and 
closely  resembles  that  at  Assisi.  The  saint,  clad  in  a 
coarse  cloth  robe,  is  kneeling  at  the  foot  of  a mountain 
that  towers  behind  him,  reminding  one,  it  must  be  ac- 
knowledged, something  of  a toboggan  slide.  Above  in 
the  sky  is  Christ  in  the  form  of  a winged  seraph.  From 
his  head,  his  feet  and  his  breast  come  the  sharp  red  lines 
of  the  stigmata  which  reach  to  the  hands,  feet  and 
breast  of  St.  Francis.  In  the  predella  of  the  picture  are 
three  scenes,  the  one  at  the  left  being  the  Dream  of 
Innocent  III.,  in  which  St.  Peter  commands  him  to 
maintain  the  order  founded  by  St.  Francis.  The  middle 
panel  reveals  him  presenting  the  Rules  of  the  Order  to 
St.  Francis,  who  kneels  before  him.  In  the  third,  St. 
Francis  is  preaching  to  the  birds.  Most  of  the  original 
colour  of  this  painting  has  been  obscured  by  dirt,  time 
and  restoring.  But  there  is  still  recognizable  something 


40 


Zl)C  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


of  Giotto’s  feeling  for  form  and  expression  which  marks 
him  as  a true  inventor. 

Probably  by  Taddeo  Gaddi  are  Salome’s  Dance,  The 
Crucifixion,  and  Christ  Giving  the  Soul  of  Judas  to 
Demons,  which  are  but  parts  of  an  old  predella.  The 
Gaddi,  Agnolo  and  Taddeo,  were  helpers  of  Giotto,  and 
like  Giottino,  and,  in  fact,  like  painters  for  a generation 
after,  they  simply  carried  on  the  Giottesque  traditions. 
For  it  was  long  before  any  men  of  real  ability  arose  to 
express  more  clearly  than  he  could  express,  reality  or 
beauty.  Taddeo  worked  for  twenty-four  years  under 
Giotto  before  he  became  an  independent  painter.  As 
Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle  observe,  he  stood  in  the  same 
relation  to  Giotto  as  Giulio  Romano  stood  to  Raphael. 
And  Leonardo’s  claim  that  art  retrograded  under  Giotto’s 
followers  applies  to  no  one  more  forcibly  than  to  him. 
He  copied  the  faults  of  his  master  even  more  slavishly 
than  the  excellences,  and  really  kept  art  at  a standstill 
in  Tuscany. 

Gentile  da  Fabriano,  who  has  ten  panels  here,  though 
generally  reckoned  among  the  painters  of  the  Umbrian 
school,  could  as  easily  be  claimed  for  the  Venetian  or 
Florentine,  as  he  spent  years  working  in  both  those 
cities.  He  and  Fra  Angelico  have  been  likened  to 
brothers  with  similar  tastes  and  tendencies,  except  that 
one  became  a monk  and  the  other  a knight.  Fabrino  used 
gold  in  high  relief  very  often  and  freely,  putting  it  on 
architectural  forms,  folds  of  garments,  head-dresses,  trap- 
pings of  horses,  and  emphasizing  and  building  out  with 
it  petals  and  leaves  of  flowers.  Many  of  his  pictures  are 
extraordinairly  amusing,  because  of  their  apparently 
helter-skelter  arrangement,  combined  with  a total  lack 
of  feeling  for  appropriateness.  His  was  a joyous  nature, 
and  the  most  solemn  of  his  Biblical  scenes  often  are  con- 


Salle  Des  iprlmttlfs 


41 


ducive  to  laughter  by  the  naive  and  unconstrained 
attitudes  of  his  personages,  or  by  the  introduction 
of  frolicking  animals  that  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
scene  depicted.  But  there  is  an  exuberance,  a gaiety  and 
brilliancy  of  colour  in  Fabriano’s  pictures  that  give  them 
an  individuality  in  its  way  as  marked  as  Fra  Angelico’s. 
He  has,  nevertheless,  as  modern  critics  agree,  been  over- 
rated, and  scarcely  deserves  the  encomiums  lavished 
upon  him.  It  is  his  Adoration  of  the  Kings  in  Florence, 
by  which  he  is  best  known. 

In  his  Virgin  and  Child  in  this  room  the  Virgin  is 
seated  in  an  extensive  landscape,  dressed  in  brown  robes 
edged  with  golden  embroidery,  about  her  head  a heavy 
nimbus  of  gold,  on  the  border  of  which  are  the  words, 
Ave  Mater  Regina  Mnndi.  The  child  stands  on  her 
right  knee,  his  right  hand  lifted  in  blessing,  his  left 
clasping  his  mother’s  forefinger  to  steady  himself.  Her 
right  hand  is  placed  against  his  hip,  and  she  holds  a 
piece  of  transparent  drapery  in  front  of  him.  At  the 
left  of  the  two  kneels  Pandolfo  Malatesta,  arrayed  in 
a gorgeous,  embossed  and  brocaded  robe.  Back  of  them 
stretches  a hilly  landscape,  with  fortified  castles  and  walls 
of  towns. 

The  Madonna  shows  some  indication  of  knowledge 
of  the  figure.  Her  shoulders  are  fully  felt  under  her 
drapery,  and  the  modelling  of  her  face  is  delicately  ren- 
dered. The  child,  too,,  though  far  from  anatomical  cor- 
rectness, is  much  better  drawn  than  the  babies  of  the 
early  Dutch  school.  Both  mother  and  child  have  a 
sweet  tenderness  of  expression,  in  excellent  contrast  to 
the  strongly  marked  profile  of  the  donor  kneeling  beside 
them. 

The  Presentation  in  the  Temple  is  elaborately  filled 
with  architectural  constructions.  The  lack  of  correct 


42 


Zbc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


perspective  between  the  buildings  and  the  people,  though 
very  evident,  shows  some  appreciation  of  the  vanishing- 
point  in  the  lines  of  the  buildings  themselves.  There  is  a 
real  effort,  as  well,  to  indicate  figures  under  the  draperies, 
and  always  a more  or  less  successful  attempt  to  portray 
individual  character  and  expression. 

Not  far  away  is  the  Coronation  of  the  Virgin,  by  Fra 
Angelico,  the  painter-monk  whose  works  are  the  veritable 
prayers  of  his  devout  spirit.  No  one  has  ever  approached 
Fra  Giovanni  in  his  rendering  of  religious  beauty.  No 
angels  have  ever  quite  equalled  his  in  their  delicacy,  their 
exquisite  colour,  their  tender  flow  of  line,  and  in  their 
beatific  expressions.  There  is  no  hint  of  worldliness,  of 
earth-heaviness  about  these  flower-like  beings,  who  play 
on  their  musical  instruments,  or  sing  hymns,  or  lead 
the  blessed  within  the  gates  of  Paradise.  Neither  is 
this  piety,  like  a perfume  over  all  that  Angelico  painted, 
his  only  gift.  He  had  a rare  sense  of  harmony  of  line 
and  of  balance  of  mass,  of  purity  of  colour  and  of  dignity 
of  composition.  He  had,  too,  a decided  talent  for  ex- 
pressing character,  — as  witness  his  greatest  work  in  the 
chapel  of  Nicholas  V.  in  the  Vatican.  It  was  only  in 
his  later  days  that  he  began  to  understand  perspective 
and  correct  relations  between  figures  and  buildings ; 
but  if  his  compositions  show  archaic  traces  in  this  respect, 
they  more  than  make  up  for  it  even  in  their  strictly 
technical  beauties  of  luminosity  of  colour,  grace  of  line, 
proportion  and  balance.  To-day  this  Coronation  is 
regarded  as  one  of  the  great  treasures  of  the  Louvre. 
It  was  among  the  spoils  of  Napoleon,  and  when  most 
of  his  booty  was  returned  to  its  owners,  this  was  not 
considered  by  the  Tuscan  government  of  sufficient  value 
to  pay  for  its  transportation.  For  long  it  was  huddled 


Salle  &es  iprlmlttfs 


43 


away  in  the  Garde-Robe  of  the  Louvre,  and  was  called 
roughly  “ a coloured  drawing.” 

On  a throne  at  the  top  of  a flight  of  wide  marble  steps 
sits  Christ  in  full  rich  robe,  holding  in  his  hands  the 
golden  crown  which  he  is  about  to  place  on  the  head 
of  his  kneeling  mother.  On  each  side  of  these  two  are 
grouped  the  lovely  angel  choirs  that  only  Beato  Angelico 
could  paint.  With  their  trumpets  and  violins  and  zithers, 
or  with  voice  alone,  they  sing  the  praises  of  their  King. 
Below  them  on  the  steps  and  still  lower  across  the 
front  of  the  picture,  are  saints,  martyrs,  apostles.  Popes, 
the  “ bienheureux  ” of  Heaven.  Among  them  are  seen 
St.  Dominic,  Moses,  John  the  Baptist,  Charlemagne,  with 
his  crown  of  fleurs-de-lis,  St.  Nicholas,  St.  Catherine 
with  her  wheel,  and  many  others.  Each  has  a halo,  which 
Fra  Angelico,  like  all  the  earliest  masters,  treated  as  a 
very  solid  substance.  When  angel  or  saint  is  facing  the 
spectator,  this  solidity  of  course  does  not  matter,  since 
only  the  wide  rim  appears  like  a frame  around  the  face. 
It  is  a different  affair  when  the  head  is  back  to.  There 
was  nothing  to  do,  since  Angelico  was  not  willing  to  cover 
their  heads  entirely  from  sight,  but  to  place  the  gold 
plate-like  halo  so  that  each  aureoled  saint  or  angel  seems 
to  have  his  face  pressed  hard  and  fast  against  it.  Below 
this  scene  is  a predella  of  seven  compartments  showing 
miracles  performed  by  St.  Dominic,  the  founder  of  the 
order  to  which  Fra  Giovanni  da  Fiesole  belonged. 

It  seems  as  if  this  brilliant  yet  soft-toned  picture,  with 
its  gold,  its  blues,  its  pinks,  its  reds,  had  been  painted 
by  an  angel  rather  than  a man.  As  Gautier  says,  its 
colours  are  taken  from  the  white  of  the  lily,  the  rose  of 
the  dawn,  the  blue  of  the  sky,  the  gold  of  the  stars. 
The  charming  variety  in  the  delicate  angelic  faces,  each  so 
full  of  love,  of  joy,  of  veneration,  the  skill  with  which  the 


44 


TTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


painter  massed  and  differentiated  the  varying  colours 
of  their  robes,  the  air  of  sweet  humility  that  shrouds 
the  Virgin,  — all  show  Fra  Angelico  in  one  of  his  most 
exalted  moments. 

In  the  Beheading  of  St.  John  the  Baptist,  Herod  and 
four  companions,  magnificently  dressed,  are  seen  behind 
a long  table.  In  front,  at  the  right,  is  Salome,  dancing, 
dressed  in  a rose-coloured  gown.  At  the  left  a soldier 
brings  in  a platter  bearing  the  head  of  the  Baptist.  Here 
there  is  a total  lack  of  the  gruesome  and  horrible.  Were 
it  not  for  the  head,  one  might  guess  the  occasion  was 
some  ordinary  occurrence.  And  Salome’s  face  is  far 
too  sweetly  featured  to  suggest  the  cold-blooded  dancer. 

On  the  walls  of  the  upper  landing  of  the  Escalier 
Daru  is  his  Crucifixion.  Against  a bluish  background 
the  cross  is  raised  with  the  figure  of  the  Christ  nailed 
upon  it.  At  its  foot,  grasping  it,  kneels  St.  Dominic, 
his  halo  making  a flat  gold  background  for  his  profile. 
At  the  right  stands  St.  John,  his  hands  clasped,  his 
eyes  raised,  and  at  the  left  is  Mary,  in  full  face,  dressed  in 
a violet  mantle.  Fra  Angelico  could  not  portray  grief, 
or  terror  or  despair  as  he  could  joy,  prayer  or  praise. 
His  lack  of  knowledge  of  the  nude,  too,  is  apparent  in  the 
figure  of  Christ.  Yet  true  sorrow  and  the  devout  spirit 
of  belief  are  very  apparent. 

There  is  a battle-scene  in  the  Louvre  by  Paolo  Uccello, 
and  also  a portrait  panel.  Uccello  and  linear  perspective 
may  almost  be  said  to  be  synonymous.  His  whole  efforts 
as  a painter  were  directed  toward  achieving  complete 
success  in  every  kind  of  a difficult  problem  in  perspective. 
As  Vasari  states,  he  was  much  more  interested  in  study- 
ing lines  of  architecture,  in  getting  the  exact  proportions 
of  curiously  foreshortened  objects  than  he  was  in  por- 
traying human  nature.  The  American  editors  of  the 


Salle  &es  prfmitifs 


45 


Italian  biographer  say  that  “ His  battle  pieces  are  stiff, 
ungainly  performances ; and  we  remember  him  rather 
for  what  he  strove  to  attain  than  for  what  he  actually 
accomplished.” 

The  one  here  is  sadly  damaged  by  time  and  by  the 
unskilful  “ restoring  ” of  Brigiardini  in  the  sixteenth 
century.  It  is  chiefly  remarkable,  perhaps,  for  its  ex- 
traordinary horses,  extraordinary  in  bulk,  in  construc- 
tion, and  in  attitude.  Uccello’s  evident  and  laboured 
attempts  to  join  legs,  bodies  and  heads  correctly,  result  in 
producing  an  animal  that  if  somewhere  near  true  anatom- 
ically is  far  from  that  in  appearance. 

The  oblong  panel  with  the  portrait  busts  of  five  noted 
men,  is  in  a sense  more  interesting.  Hard  and  rigid  as 
it  is  as  portraiture,  it  has  a solid  strength  and  characteri- 
zation that  presage  the  great  days  of  Florentine  su- 
premacy in  line  and  mass.  These  five  men  were  all 
celebrated  in  their  own  fields,  and  Uccello,  according 
to  Vasari,  was  a great  admirer  of  each  one,  and  kept 
this  panel  in  his  own  rooms.  The  first  on  the  board 
is  Giotto,  the  painter,  the  second,  Paolo  himself,  the 
great  exponent  of  the  principles  of  perspective,  the  third 
Donatello,  the  sculptor,  the  fourth  Antonio,  not  Giovanni, 
Manetti,  the  mathematician,  and  the  fifth  Brunellesco 
the  architect.  The  name  of  each  is  written  on  the  frame 
below  the  portrait. 

From  Uccello’s  archaic  battle-scene  to  the  Virgin  and 
Child  with  Saints  and  Priests  of  Filippo  Lippi,  is  a far 
cry,  though  Uccello  was  only  nine  years  older  than  the 
latter.  Art  critics  are  agreed  that  Fra  Filippo  Lippi  was 
influenced  by  both  Masaccio  and  Fra  Angelico.  His  fig- 
ures have  a roundness,  a fulness,  and  a real  existence  that 
those  of  Fra  Angelico  lack,  while  his  saints  and  angels 
have  a sweetness  and  a spirituality  beyond  Masaccio’s 


46 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


power.  If  he  owes  something  of  the  solidity  of  his 
figures  to  Masaccio,  and  something  of  his  delicacy  and 
purity  of  line  to  Angelico,  yet  he  is  always  and  distinctly 
himself,  with  a charm  that  is  wholly  his  own,  and  before 
unknown  in  art.  Like  all  Italians  he  painted  religious 
pictures  almost  exclusively.  But  for  the  first  time  in  art 
he  made  them  human.  His  Madonnas  are  real  mothers, 
his  baby  Christs  real  babies ; even  his  angels  are  verj' 
natural,  and  not  always  beautiful  children.  Still,  he 
never  lost  the  religious  sentiment  in  spite  of  thus  human- 
izing his  types.  He  introduced  what  may  be  called  the 
genre  picture  into  Italy,  painting  his  Madonnas,  Nativ- 
ities, and  Annunciations  on  small,  round  surfaces, 
suitable  for  home  walls  as  well  as  for  church  altars. 

After  Filippo’s  fiftieth  year  he  used  only  one  type  of 
face  for  his  Madonnas.  It  is  a well-known  story  of  his 
commission  to  paint  a Nativity  for  the  nuns  of  Sta. 
Margherita,  and  of  how  he  chose  for  his  model  of  the 
Virgin  young  Lucrezia  Buti  who  was  a boarder  in  the 
convent.  For  generations  the  end  of  the  story  was  that 
he  ran  away  with  Lucrezia  and  then  refused  to  marry  her 
who  became  the  mother  of  his  son  Filippino.  The  truth, 
as  Milanesi  found  it  out  from  old  letters  and  documents, 
is  not  so  widely  known.  Poor  Fra  Filippo  is  not  the 
only  one  that  “ Gossip  Vasari  ” wronged.  That  garrulous 
commentator  scattered  scandal  through  his  accounts' with 
a free  hand.  Fra  Filippo,  then,  did  marry  Lucrezia  by 
a special  dispensation  from  the  Pope,  and  for  her  sake 
gave  up  all  his  priestly  revenues,  and  lived  and  died  a poor 
man.  It  is  Lucrezia’s  face  that  he  paints  over  and  over, 
ever  dwelling  on  each  softly  arched  brow,  on  the  wide 
eyes,  the  broad,  ingenuous  forehead,  the  tormentingly 
pretty  nose,  the  kissable  mouth,  the  little  chin,  — with  a 
veritable  lover’s  caress. 


Salle  t>C3  iPrtmttits 


47 


The  Virgin  and  Child  alluded  to  above  was  painted 
when  Lippo  was  only  twenty-six  years  old.  It  is  fuller 
of  architectural  forms  than  some  of  his  later  works,  but 
already  he  was  in  full  possession  of  the  style  that  was 
so  distinctively  and  so  originally  his  own.  Three  orna- 
mented arches  divide  the  upper  part  of  this  picture, 
which  represents  the  interior  of  a church  or  some  sort 
of  sanctuary.  Under  the  central  arch,  before  a highly 
decorated  throne,  stands  Mary  in  full  face,  holding  the 
child  against  her  right  hip.  Six  angels  guard  her  throne, 
three  on  the  right,  three  on  the  left.  A low  balustrade 
which  curves  behind  the  angels,  partly  hides  from  view 
two  children  who  look  over  it  at  the  scene  in  front. 
Farther  back  at  the  left  a monk’s  head  peers  over  the 
railing,  and  this  has  been  called  a portrait  of  the  painter 
himself.  Though  executed  long  before  he  knew  Lucrezia, 
the  Madonna  has  the  wide  forehead,  short,  piquant  nose, 
and  small  chin,  characteristic  of  both  his  earlier  and 
later  portrayals  of  the  Virgin.  She  is  clad  in  the  conven- 
tional red  gown  and  blue  mantle,  and  has  the  fascinat- 
ingly diaphanous  head-dress  Lippo  loved  to  paint.  Her 
expression  is  gently  serious  and  contemplative,  and  if  she 
is  not  drawn  with  quite  the  understanding  of  a Raphael, 
at  least  there  is  a very  solid  figure  under  the  heavy 
drapery.  The  folds  of  this  drapery  are  well  managed 
and  carefully  realistic.  A sort  of  sling  made  of  a long 
piece  of  cloth  and  tied  in  a knot  goes  about  Mary’s 
neck,  and  on  this  knot  the  baby  has  put  his  right  foot, 
the  support  helping  to  keep  him  in  his  upright  posi- 
tion. In  one  hand  he  holds  a pomegranate,  the  other 
pulls  down  the  drapery  at  his  waist.  His  tight, 
curling  hair,  fat  little  limbs  and  chubby  shoulders, 
are  expressed  with  Fra  Filippo’s  naturalistic  freedom  of 
handling.  The  angels  are  delightful  little  beings,  with 


48 


Ube  Hrt  ot  tbe  Xouvre 


their  high,  curved  wings,  their  voluminous  robes  and 
their  easy,  unstrained  attitudes.  Each  one  bears  a 
single  stalk  of  Ascension  lilies,  and  if  their  boyish  faces 
suggest  earthly  rather  than  heavenly  denizens,  they  are 
not  thereby  the  less  attractive.  The  two  prelates  kneel- 
ing in  front  are  vigorous,  studied  portraits,  drawn  with 
strength  and  emphasis.  As  a whole,  the  picture  is  full 
of  charm,  of  individuality,  and  of  power,  as  well  as  of 
that  subtle  grace  which  with  Fra  Filippo  had  so  much 
of  sweet  homeliness  about  it. 

Morelli  thinks  the  Nativity  is  probably  not  by  Fra 
Filippo,  but  by  some  one  of  the  school  of  Alesso  Baldo- 
vinetti.  It  has,  at  all  events,  been  pretty  generally 
credited  to  Filippo,  and  has  many  of  his  characteristics, 
though  there  is  some  archaic  drawing  that  seems  at  least 
hardly  up  to  his  best  work.  In  front  of  a ruined  barn 
built  of  bricks,  and  apparently  even  in  its  first  days  far 
too  small  to  hold  man  and  beast,  kneel  Mary  and  Joseph, 
adoring  the  child  who  is  lying  flat  on  the  ground  between 
them.  Behind,  through  one  of  the  numerous  breaks  in 
the  wall,  an  ox  and  a donkey  look  out,  and  above  them 
two  angels  float  in  the  air,  their  hands  met  prayer-wise. 
At  the  top  of  the  picture  is  the  Holy  Spirit  in  the  form 
of  a dove,  sending  golden  rays  on  to  the  group  below.  At 
the  left,  behind  Mary,  a very  much  cut-up  .landscape  of 
rivers,  pastures  and  castles  is  seen,  with  shepherds  and 
their  flocks  curiously  out  of  proportion. 

Mary  is  by  far  the  best  of  the  figures  here  represented. 
The  careful  drawing  of  the  hands,  the  youthful  face,  with 
its  drooped  lids,  its  sweet  mouth,  its  delicate  head-dress, 
all  recall  the  style  of  Filippo  Lippi.  Joseph,  too,  has 
a certain  rough,  puzzled  expression  that  is  both  pathetic 
and  amusing. 

Benozzo  Gozzoli  is  represented  by  only  one  picture. 


Salle  &es  iprtmitlta 


49 


This  painter  of  earth’s  gaieties  was,  strangely  enough, 
Fra  Angelico’s  pupil,  and  in  Rome  his  assistant,  and  was 
greatly  beloved  by  the  painter-monk.  The  American 
editors  of  Vasari  sum  him  up  well  in  saying,  “ He  is  a 
story-teller  par  excellence,  ...  a lover  of  nature,  a stu- 
dent of  fields  and  flowers  and  animals.  . . . On  the  vast 
wall-spaces  that  he  covered  so  rapidly  and  easily  with  a 
world  of  story,  he  revealed  himself  in  turn  as  landscape- 
painter,  portrait-painter,  animal-painter,  costumer,  archi- 
tect, designer  of  ornament  and  superlatively  a decorator.” 

His  Triumph  of  St.  Thomas  Aquinas  is  in  three 
parts.  The  upper  shows  Christ  blessing,  while  slightly 
below  him  are  St.  Paul,  Moses  and  the  four  Evangel- 
ists. In  the  central  division  St.  Thomas  is  seated  be- 
tween Aristotle  and  Plato,  Guillaume  de  St.  Amour 
lying  at  his  feet,  vanquished.  Below  all  this  is  the  entire 
Church  of  doctors,  cardinals  and  Pope  Alexander  IV. 
who  are  being  instructed  by  St.  Thomas.  Here  the 
painter  had  little  chance  to  introduce  the  birds  and 
beasts  and  flowers  he  was  so  fond  of,  and  by  its  very 
subject  the  picture  is  so  much  the  less  characteristic  of 
him. 

Signorelli  is  represented  by  a fragment  of  a com- 
position, and  by  the  Birth  of  the  Virgin,  but  they  are 
far  below  the  best  works  of  the  man  who  is  called  “ the 
immediate  successor  of  Michelangelo.”  Signorelli  was 
apprentice  to  Pietro  della  Francesca,  and  it  was  he  who 
finished  the  fresco  of  the  Last  Judgment  which  Michel- 
angelo had  begun.  It  is  his  frescoes  at  Orvieto  that 
have  given  him  his  greatest  fame,  for  in  them  he  shows  a 
grandeur  of  form,  a strength  and  virility  of  expression, 
a concentrated  passion  of  action  that  w^ere  never  equalled 
till  the  day  of  Michelangelo.  His  colour  is  not  always 
agreeable,  his  compositions  are  frequently  crowded. 


5° 


XTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


But  he  is  one  of  the  first  great  moderns  in  art.  He 
appeals  to  us,  to  our  times,  to  our  minds,  as  almost  no 
painter  before  and  as  few  since. 

In  the  Birth  of  the  Virgin  is  a certain  dignity  of  line 
that  marks  almost  all  of  Signorelli’s  works,  but  it  is  far 
below  the  height  of  his  power.  In  a bare-walled  room, 
slightly  at  the  left,  is  Anne  in  bed.  She  leans  out  to 
reach  the  new-born  Mary  to  a woman  who  stoops  to  take 
her.  At  the  foot  of  the  bed  a man  rests  against  the 
foot-board,  leaning  over  back  to.  Standing  near  the 
woman  taking  the  child  is  a young  girl  whose  tall  figure 
with  its  fine  lines  is  the  one  bit  in  the  picture  most 
suggestive  of  Signorelli.  At  the  extreme  right  Joseph 
is  sitting  on  the  floor  writing  on  his  knee,  and  next  to  him 
a serving-woman  bends  over  some  dishes. 

Of  the  pictures  in  the  Louvre  catalogued  as  by  Botti- 
celli, only  the  Lemmi  frescoes  are  universally  acknowl- 
edged to  be  really  by  him.  These  are  on  the  upper  land- 
ing of  the  Escalier  Daru,  near  Fra  Angelico’s  Crucifixion. 

Berenson  says  of  Botticelli  that  he  is  “ Never  pretty, 
scarcely  ever  charming  or  even  attractive ; rarely  cor- 
rect in  drawing  and  seldom  satisfactory  in  colour ; in 
types,  ill-favoured ; in  feeling,  acutely  intense  and  even 
dolorous.”  It  is  perhaps  this  intensity  of  feeling,  com- 
bined with  its  dolorous-languidness  in  expression,  that 
has  captured  so  many  modern  critics,  even  more  than 
the  wonderful  decorative  qualities  and  the  grace  and 
movement  of  line  that  are  as  integral  parts  of  this  Floren- 
tine’s art.  The  wistful-faced,  yearning-eyed  Madonnas, 
the  tired,  weary-looking  baby  Christs,  the  intense, 
strained  expression  on  so  many  of  his  angel  faces,  all 
this  greatly  appeals  to  the  neurotic,  anemic,  and  the 
mind-at-high-pressure  so  characteristic  of  present  day 
humanity.  No  other  painter  strikes  quite  the  same  chord. 


Salle  &es  prlmltlfs 


51 


He  has  as  little  of  the  tragic,  solemn  depth  of  Michel- 
angelo as  he  has  of  the  serene  poise  of  Raphael.  There 
is  always  poetry,  always  grace,  always  the  wonderful 
sinuosity  of  line  that  seems  fairly  vibrant  with  music ; 
but  there  are  other  things  as  well.  If  there  is  subtlety 
of  expression,  one  suspects  disingenuousness  in  that  very 
subtlety;  if  there  is  rhythmic  curve  of  line,  there  is  an 
ignoring  of  solidity  of  construction ; and  if  no  one  has 
ever  better  expressed  motion  in  waving  hair,  falling 
drapery,  or  turning  head,  no  one  either  has  so  revelled 
in  awkward,  ill-formed  shapes.  The  lack  of  ingenuous- 
ness is,  however,  one  of  the  most  salient  features  of 
much  of  Botticelli’s  work.  There  really  is  some  ground 
for  feeling  that  he  was  a bit  of  a poseur.  A certain  sort 
of  artificiality  permeates  the  majority  of  his  pictures;  a 
fascinating,  sensuous,  appealing  artificiality,  doubtless, 
but  the  forced,  unreal  note  is,  nevertheless,  nearly  always 
there. 

Botticelli  was  living  and  working  at  the  same  time  as 
Ghirlandajo,  Benozzo  Gozzoli,  Verocchio,  and  Perugino, 
and  for  awhile,  Filippo  Lippi,  who  was  his  teacher. 
He  was  considered,  at  the  time  of  the  latter’s  death,  to  be 
the  best  master  in  Florence,  though  he  was  then  only 
twenty-two.  His  circular  pictures  of  the  Virgin  and 
Child  may  be  assigned  to  this  period,  or  immediately 
after.  These  tondi  are  slightly  reminiscent  of  the  friar- 
painter,  but  they  nevertheless  are  strongly  indicative 
of  Botticelli’s  own  peculiar  qualities. 

One  of  these  tondi  is  the  round  Madonna  called  “ Le 
Magnificat,”  in  Room  VH.,  though  it  is  now  considered  to 
be  a rather  poor  copy  of  the  great  one  in  the  Uffizi.  It  is 
certainly  far  from  that  in  its  technique,  showing  poor 
brush-work  and  inferior  treatment  of  values  and  colour. 
In  composition  it  is  identical,  except  that  whereas  in  the 


ZM  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


S2 

one  in  Paris  only  one  angel  holds  the  crown  over  Marj^’s 
head,  in  that  of  the  Uffizi  there  are  two,  her  head  being 
thus  framed  by  the  two  uplifted  hands.  This  arrange- 
ment fills  up  the  round  more  harmoniously,  and  is  so 
much  the  more  characteristic  of  Botticelli.  No  one  has 
more  beautifully  balanced  a composition  in  a circle  than 
has  he  in  the  famous  Uffizi  tondo. 

Mary  sits  at  the  right  in  front  of  a curved  opening 
giving  a distant  view  of  a “ winding  stream  and  wooded 
meadow.”  Behind  her  is  the  boy  angel  in  profile  whose 
right  hand  holds  over  her  head  the  crown  made  of  deli- 
cate golden  tracery.  Standing  by  her  knee  on  the  other 
side  are  two  more  angels,  holding  an  open  book  and  an 
ink-well,  into  which  she  is  dipping  her  pen  preparatory  to 
writing  on  the  book’s  half-blank  pages.  Behind  these 
two,  also  looking  at  the  book,  a third  bends  over  them, 
a hand  on  each  of  the  others’  shoulder.  His  position 
exactly,  yet  without  too  much  apparent  effort,  conforms 
to  the  curving  line  of  the  picture.  On  Mary’s  lap  is  the 
baby  Christ,  his  head  lifted,  his  eyes  raised.  He  rests 
his  right  hand  partly  on  his  mother’s  wrist  and  partly 
on  the  open  book,  his  left  grasping  the  cut  pomegranate 
which  she  holds  at  his  side.  The  baby  is  rather  uncouth 
and  heavy  and  is  the  least  attractive  of  the  whole 
group.  The  boy  angels  are  remarkably  charming,  their 
Medicean  type  of  face  infused  with  a delightful  feeling 
of  innocence. 

The  Virgin,  Child  and  St.  John  is  a much  better  piece 
of  work  from  a technical  standpoint  than  the  IMagnificat. 
It  is  supposed,  however,  not  to  be  by  Botticelli  but  by 
some  painter  who  was  greatly  inspired  by  him.  The 
Virgin  sits  at  the  right,  in  a garden,  her  face  in  profile, 
looking  down  under  deep,  full  lids  at  the  child  who 
is  standing  on  her  lap.  At  the  left  is  the  little  St. 


Salle  t)es  prlmltlfs 


S3 


John,  his  hands  crossed  on  his  breast,  his  great  eyes 
gazing  straight  out  of  the  picture.  Mary  has  much  of 
the  ruminative  melancholy  of  Botticelli’s  Madonnas,  but 
the  type  of  head  is  somewhat  unlike  his  usual  choice, 
her  hands  are  squarer  and  better  articulated,  and  the 
fingers  far  less  long  and  serpentine.  The  baby  is  an 
exquisite  bit  of  childhood.  The  tender  loveliness  of 
his  chubby  face,  as  he  looks  up  adoringly  at  his  mother, 
the  little  love  pressure  of  his  hand  at  her  throat,  are 
beautifully  rendered.  Scarcely  less  appealing  is  John, 
with  the  dreamy  wistfulness  of  his  expression  and  his 
humble,  self-effacing  attitude. 

The  two  so-called  Lemmi  frescoes  are  parts  of  a 
decoration  that  Botticelli  executed  for  Giovanni  Torna- 
buoni  when  his  son  Lorenzo  married  Giovanna  degli 
Albizzi.  The  Tornabuoni  were  related  to  the  Medici 
and  much  interested  in  art.  For  years  these  frescoes  had 
apparently  disappeared.  In  1541  the  villa  had  gone 
from  the  family,  and  later  the  rooms  were  whitewashed 
and  the  frescoes  wholly  covered  up.  In  1873,  when 
Doctor  Lemmi  was  owner  of  the  house,  some  cracks 
gave  signs  of  colour  beneath,  and  the  whitewash  being 
removed,  Botticelli’s  paintings  appeared.  Only  two  were 
really  preserved,  a third  falling  to  pieces  when  uncovered. 
In  1882  they  were  somehow  purchased  and  ever  since 
have  been  in  the  Louvre.  Both  of  them  are  more  or 
less  damaged,  one  of  them  being  in  a much  worse  state 
than  the  other.  Unfortunately  the  better  preserved, 
Lorenzo  Tornabuoni  Led  into  the  Company  of  the  Liberal 
Arts,  is  the  poorer  painting.  Indeed,  it  is  so  much  less 
successful  than  the  other  that  critics  have  thought  it 
could  not  have  been  wholly  Botticelli’s  work.  The 
balance  of  opinion,  however,  seems  now  to  ascribe  it  as 
well  as  the  other  to  him. 


54 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


At  the  edge  of  a wood  on  a high  seat  at  the  right 
sits  Philosophy  surrounded  by  her  handmaidens,  the 
“ Liberal  Arts.”  From  the  left  comes  Lorenzo  led  by 
Dialectics.  A small  Cupid  was  apparently  beside  him, 
but  only  his  head  has  escaped  destruction.  Lorenzo, 
with  his  long,  blond  hair,  and  serious,  thoughtful  profile, 
is  evidently  a portrait  of  the  young  man  who  was  so 
highly  esteemed  by  his  contemporaries  for  his  learning 
and  character.  He  has  a round  red  cap  on  his  head, 
and  is  dressed  in  a blue  and  red  striped  gown,  with  a red 
cloak  falling  from  his  right  shoulder.  The  pensive, 
graceful  girl  figure  of  Dialectics,  who  leads  him  up  to  the 
distinguished  company,  is  clad  in  white.  Philosophy, 
in  profile,  is  in  the  centre  of  the  six  “ Arts,”  these  latter 
making  a semicircle  about  her.  She  is  dignified,  heavily 
draped  with  fur-trimmed  robes,  and  is  much  older  than 
the  others.  On  her  right  are  Arithmetic,  Grammar  and 
Rhetoric,  on  her  left  Geometry,  Astronomy  and  Music. 
They  are  all  young  maidens  and  sit  or  kneel  in  graceful 
attitudes. 

Giovanni  Tornabuoni  Receiving  the  Gifts  of  the 
Graces,  is  the  other  and  more  valuable  fresco.  It  repre- 
sents the  interior  of  a room  in  which  the  hostess  stands 
at  the  right  holding  out  her  apron  to  receive  the  gifts 
of  the  Graces,  or,  as  some  have  said,  the  four  cardinal 
Virtues.  She  is  the  best  preserved  bit  in  the  panel,  and  is 
supposed  to  be  a very  faithful  likeness  of  the  young  wife 
who  was  so  noted  for  all  the  virtues  and  charms  of 
womanhood.  Her  face  is  in  three-quarters  view,  turned 
to  the  left.  Clad  in  a brownish  red  gown  that  falls  in 
straight,  unbroken  folds  to  her  ankles,  with  a white  veil 
over  her  hair,  and  a necklace  of  pearls,  she  presents  a 
sober,  quiet  appearance,  far  different  from  that  of  most 
of  the  women  of  Italy  of  her  day.  Coming  toward  her 


LORENZO  TORNARUONI  LED  INTO  THE  COMPANY  OF  THE  LIRERAL  ARTS 

By  Botticelli 


Salle  J)es  iptlmltlfs 


55 


from  the  left  are  the  four  maidens,  marching  two  by 
two,  dressed  in  soft-coloured  robes  that  are  billowed 
about  them  in  tortuous  folds,  caught  up  by  bands  and 
falling  over  under-draperies  equally  turbulent,  in  a style 
that  was  all  Botticelli’s  own.  The  girl  who  seems  to  lead 
the  four  is  supposed  to  represent  Venus,  both  from  her 
more  prominent  position  and  because  she  alone  wears 
sandals  and  has  golden-edged  draperies.  She  has  been 
a good  deal  obliterated,  the  whole  back  of  her  head  and 
part  of  her  shoulder  and  right  leg  being  lost.  Her 
profile  is  not  over  pretty,  but  is  still  intact,  as  well  as 
the  faces  of  her  three  companions,  who,  while  all  are 
of  a marked  Botticelli  type,  are  more  than  usually 
regular  in  outline  and  charming  in  expression.  Their 
flowing  locks  of  hair  are  painted  with  all  his  love  for  these 
waving,  living,  caressing  strands. 

As  pure  decoration,  this  panel  shows  Botticelli’s 
genius  at  its  height.  His  command  of  line,  his  rhythmic 
curves  were  never  more  beautifully  displayed,  and  one 
feels  with  Berenson  that  here  is  “ the  greatest  artist  of 
lineal  design  that  Europe  has  ever  had.” 

Ghirlandajo,  whose  Visitation  and  Portrait  of  an  Old 
Man  and  Little  Boy  are  in  this  room,  was  one  of  the  three 
great  Florentine  painters  of  the  last  quarter  of  the  fif- 
teenth century,  the  other  two  being  Botticelli  and  Filip- 
pino. Messrs.  Blashfield  and  Hopkins  consider  him  less 
tender  than  Filippino,  less  original  than  Botticelli,  but 
more  powerful  and  more  direct  than  either.  “ The  note 
which  he  strikes  is  less  thrilling,  but  deeper ; the  types 
he  presents  are  less  fascinating,  but  more  human.”  His 
most  distinctive  attribute,  perhaps,  is  his  ability  as  a 
portrait-painter.  In  his  pictures  of  the  Nativity,  the 
Annunciation,  and  other  religious  subjects,  the  best  part 
of  the  scenes  are  not  the  Madonnas  and  saints  that  give 


56 


XLbc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


the  name  of  the  picture,  but  the  onlookers,  the  “ donors,” 
or  the  attendant  citizens.  In  these  figures  he  painted 
simply  and  directly  the  actual  Florentines  of  his  day,  and 
painted  them  with  a truth,  a reality  and  an  incisiveness 
that  proclaim  him  a rare  portrait-painter  for  his  own  or 
any  time.  In  colour  he  is  often  far  from  pleasing,  indulg- 
ing as  he  does  in  an  overabundance  of  bricky  red,  but  in 
drawing  he  is  superior  to  all  the  painters  who  had  pre- 
ceded him.  He  had,  too,  a keen  sense  of  the  general 
effect  in  his  compositions,  and  did  not  hesitate  to  sacrifice 
details  and  accessories  to  this,  which,  for  the  time,  was 
an  unusual  and  veritable  painter’s  attribute. 

The  Visitation  was  one  of  Napoleon’s  spoils,  and  was 
left  in  Paris  after  most  of  the  pillaged  treasures  were 
returned.  It  was  painted  by  Ghirlandajo  late  in  life  for 
the  church  of  Gastello,  to-day  Santa  klaria  Maddalena 
de  Pazzi,  in  Florence.  Though  it  is  claimed  that  he  did 
not  wholly  finish  it,  and  that  IMainardi’s  hand  can  be  seen 
in  its  completion,  it  is,  nevertheless,  full  of  Ghirlandajo’s 
characteristic  dignity  of  pose,  vigour  of  line,  and  inten- 
sity of  action. 

In  a portico  before  an  arched  opening  that  gives  a 
glimpse  of  a fortified  town  on  the  sea,  with  boats  and  a 
bridge,  Mary  and  Elizabeth  have  met.  Elizabeth,  in 
yellow  robe  with  white  head-dress,  kneels  in  front  of 
Mary  who  leans  over  her,  her  hands  on  the  elder 
woman’s  shoulders.  Mary  is  in  blue,  the  long,  full 
mantle  caught  at  her  breast  with  an  enormous  brooch 
set  with  precious  stones.  A soft  piece  of  gauze  drawn 
about  her  neck  and  a ruffled  head-dress  of  muslin  nearly 
covers  her  hair  which  is  drawn  over  her  ears  on  each 
side.  At  the  left  Mary  Cleophas  stands,  looking  aAray 
from  the  group;  at  the  right  Salome  advances  rapidly 
toward  them,  her  hands  met  prayer-wise  in  front  of  her. 


THE  VISITATION 

By  Ghirlandajo 


Salle  prlmltifs 


57 


Her  figure  is  spirited,  and  full  of  movement,  emphasized 
by  the  flying  draperies.  This  waving  of  folds  and  ends 
of  draperies  is  one  of  Ghirlandajo’s  idiosyncrasies,  and  he 
sometimes  employs  it  when  there  is  no  evidence  that 
wind  or  motion  caused  the  commotion.  In  this  case, 
however,  it  is  telling  and  effective.  Mary  Cleophas  is 
a tall,  stately  figure,  well  posed  and  of  much  individuality. 
She  has  something  of  the  Lippo  cast  of  countenance,  with 
a slightly  longer  chin  and  somewhat  less  breadth  across 
the  eyes.  Her  attitude,  as  she  greets  the  other  woman, 
is  touchingly  tender  and  reverent.  Elizabeth’s  profile 
is  strong  and  fine  and  full  of  character. 

The  Portrait  of  an  Old  Man  and  Little  Boy  is  a re- 
markable example  of  Ghirlandajo’s  skill  at  portraiture. 
Beside  an  open  window  sits  the  old  man,  his  head  nearly 
in  profile,  looking  down  at  the  child’s  lifted  face,  which 
is  in  strict  profile.  The  picture  ends  at  the  line  of  the 
boy’s  shoulder,  so  that  the  old  man’s  hands  are  not 
shown  nor  the  child’s  right  one.  His  left  rests  affection- 
ately on  his  guardian’s  chest.  Absolute  realism  was  here 
Ghirlandajo’s  evident  aim.  He  has  made  no  attempt  to 
soften  or  beautify  the  old  man’s  visage,  dwelling  almost 
with  gusto  on  the  huge  bottle-nose,  with  its  painful  ex- 
crescences, and  on  the  big  wart  on  his  forehead.  In 
spite  of  these  physical  deformities  his  expression,  as  he 
gazes  at  the  little  one,  is  full  of  a longing  love  and  a ten- 
der joy  that  yet  verges  upon  sorrow.  It  is  a remarkable 
bit  of  character-painting.  The  child,  with  its  golden 
curls  so  carefully  drawn,  almost  every  hair  outlined,  has 
a beautiful  face,  its  questioning  little  profile  as  full  of 
adoring  veneration  as  is  the  old  man’s  face  of  protecting 
love. 

The  Louvre  owns  two  of  Credi’s  works,  but  neither 
the  Madonna  Enthroned  between  Two  Saints  in  this 


58 


Zbc  Uvt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


room,  nor  the  Christ  and  Mary  Magdalene  in  the  Grande 
Galerie  are  really  worthy  of  the  man  whom  Verrocchio 
recommended  to  finish  the  Colleoni  monument. 

In  the  former  of  these  two  pictures,  under  the  central 
one  of  three  archways,  the  Madonna  is  represented 
seated  on  a throne.  The  niche  behind  her  is  closed,  the 
other  two  arches  each  spanning  an  opening  that  shows 
the  sky  beyond.  The  arcades  and  pilasters  are  richly 
and  minutely  ornamented.  Mary  holds  the  child  Jesus 
on  her  right  knee,  her  head  bent  toward  her  right 
shoulder,  looking  down  at  him  with  a sorrowful  tender- 
ness in  her  gaze.  The  transparent  veil  of  her  head- 
dress is  exquisitely  rendered  as  well  as  the  soft  curls  that 
fall  over  her  shoulder.  The  child  has  twisted  around  till 
his  face  is  turned  to  the  left,  while  he  blesses  St.  Julian 
who  stands  before  the  open  arch,  his  face  nearly  in 
profile,  his  hands  joined  in  prayer.  At  the  right,  in  his 
pontifical  robes,  is  St.  Nicholas,  reading  a book.  Though 
too  hard,  and  lacking  the  feeling  of  malleable  flesh,  his 
head  is  finely  drawn  and  modelled  and  has  decided  char- 
acter. The  whole  picture  is  more  affected  than  much 
of  Credi’s  earlier  work,  and  has  a hard,  brilliant  polish 
almost  like  porcelain,  along  with  slight  and  rather  un- 
meaning chiaroscuro.  There  are,  however,  a certain 
grace  in  the  treatment  of  the  head  of  Mary,  and  a tender 
movement  of  her  hands  that  recall  Credi  at  his  happiest. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


SALLE  DUCHATEL  — ROOM  V.  — ITALIAN  AND  FRENCH 
SCHOOLS 

In  the  fifth  room,  called  Salle  Duchatel,  are  a 
number  of  important  frescoes  by  Luini,  transferred  from 
the  Litta  Palace.  Of  all  Italian  painters  Luini,  perhaps, 
shows  the  influence  of  Leonardo  the  most.  Yet  it  is  not 
at  all  certain  that  he  ever  was  an  actual  pupil  of  the  great 
Tuscan.  Indeed,  very  little  is  known  about  Luini  except 
through  his  works.  These  are  quite  sufficient  to  indicate 
that  he  is  almost  another  Da  Vinci  over  again,  without 
Da  Vinci’s  depth,  tragedy,  virile  power  or  mysterious 
fascination.  It  is  the  sweetness,  the  charm,  the  soft 
modelling,  the  entrancing  chiaroscuro  of  Leonardo  that 
Luini  repeats  so  successfully.  And  though  in  the  main 
it  can  properly  be  called  repetition,  yet  it  is  not  without 
really  distinct  personality,  and,  within  certain  lines, 
originality.  The  tender  charm  of  a Luini  Madonna,  the 
grace  of  expression,  of  arrangerruent,  of  grouping  in 
his  frescoes,  are  all  his  own  even  though  they  became 
his  through  long  Leonardesque  infiltration.  His  sweet- 
ness is  rarely  cloying,  for  it  is  backed  up  by  vigorous,  if 
smooth,  modelling,  by  judicious  colour,  by  skilful  light- 
ing. And  his  tenderness  and  grace  never,  in  his  best 
works,  degenerate  into  mawkishness  and  pose.  The 

59 


6o 


XTbe  art  of  tbe  Xouvre 


frescoes  from  the  Litta  Palace  show  him,  not  as  he  is 
known  at  the  Brera,  at  San  Maurizio,  at  Lugano  and 
Saronna,  but  they  at  least  give  a very  good  idea  of  his 
ability  as  a decorator.  And  his  ability  was  of  a very 
high  order,  if  not  the  highest. 

Of  these  frescoes  the  most  beautiful  are  the  Nativity 
and  the  Adoration  of  the  Magi.  The  first  is  the  interior 
of  a stable  with  heavy  beams  cutting  the  walls  into 
squares.  At  the  left  on  the  ground  is  the  child  Jesus, 
in  a very  babyish  position,  his  toes  kicking  up,  his 
forefinger  in  his  mouth.  Beside  him  are  two  small  angels. 
The  one  at  his  head  lifts  the  cloth  beneath  the  baby’s 
shoulders  while  the  other  at  his  feet  grasps  a wooden 
cross  with  both  arms  and  bends  over  it,  looking  intently 
at  the  infant.  This  group  is  placed  directly  below  the 
manger,  over  which  the  heads  of  an  ox  and  a donkey 
appear.  Above  are  two  adoring  angels,  kneeling  on 
clouds,  though  still  within  the  confines  of  the  building. 
On  the  same  level  with  them  at  the  right,  a square  opening 
in  the  wall  gives  a view  of  the  crest  of  a hill  where  three 
shepherds  are  observed  receiving  the  “ glad  tidings  ” 
from  an  angel  who  descends  out  of  the  sky.  In  the  fore- 
ground, at  the  right  of  Jesus,  kneel  Mary,  her  hands 
clasped  in  prayer,  and  behind  her  Joseph.  Mary  is 
dressed  in  a violet-toned  mantle  lined  with  green,  and 
edged  with  gold  embroidery.  Joseph  wears  a yellow 
cloak,  also  edged  with  gold.  Mary  has  the  Leonardesque 
type  of  face,  even  with  something  of  the  subtle,  un- 
translatable smile  curving  her  delicate  lips,  the  same 
purely  lined  brows  of  the  Gioconda,  — the  whole  ethere- 
alized,  and  made  more  spiritual  by  Luini’s  brush.  St. 
Joseph  here  recalls  the  Christ  t}'pe.  The  long,  ^^'aving, 
parted  hair  and  broad  brow  are  very  like  the  conventional 
head  of  Christ.  It  was  a curious  fancy  for  an  Italian 


ADORATION  OF  THE  MAGI 
By  Luiiii 


Salle  H)ucbatel 


6i 


painter  to  suggest  that  Christ  would  have  resembled  St. 
Joseph  in  physical  attributes. 

In  the  Adoration,  where  only  the  head  and  shoulders  of 
Joseph  appear,  and  in  profile,  the  likeness  to  the  conven- 
tional Christ  type  is  even  more  noticeable.  The  scene  is 
again  in  the  stable,  showing  Mary  sitting  on  a raised  bit 
of  flooring,  with  the  child  standing  on  her  knee,  while 
he  blesses  the  three  kings  before  him.  Joseph  looks  over 
the  mother’s  shoulder.  Above,  through  two  oblong 
openings,  is  seen  a caravan  winding  down  a mountain 
road.  Of  the  three  kings,  the  one  in  front,  with  long 
gray  beard  and  ermine-trimmed  cloak,  is  kneeling,  his 
vase  of  precious  ointment  laid  at  Mary’s  feet.  The  other 
two  stand  behind  him,  each  bearing  his  gift.  The  three 
are  sharply  differentiated,  each  well  individualized  and 
subtly  drawn.  Mary,  dressed  in  blue  skirt,  violet  waist 
and  green  mantle,  is  in  three-quarters  position,  her  head 
bent  forward,  her  eyes  nearly  covered  by  the  heavy, 
drooped  lids.  Her  face  is  ideally  beautiful  and  ex- 
quisitely painted,  the  soft,  waving  hair  falling  against 
her  neck,  and  the  transparent  border  to  her  head-dress 
displaying  Luini’s  delicate  surety  of  touch. 

In  this  room  is  the  Virgin  and  Child  Adored  by  the 
Donors,  the  work  of  the  Fleming  Hans  Memlinc,  or 
Memling,  as  he  is  usually  called.  In  the  centre  of  the 
nave  of  a church,  seated  on  a stone  throne,  with  em- 
broidered drapery  behind  her  and  a canopy  over  her 
head,  is  Mary,  holding  the  infant  Jesus  across  her  lap. 
At  the  left  of  the  picture,  on  her  right,  stands  St.  James, 
and  kneeling  beside  him  the  donor,  James  Floreins,  and 
his  six  sons.  On  the  other  side  St.  Dominic  presents  the 
donor’s  wife,  accompanied  by  her  twelve  daughters,  the 
second  of  whom  is  in  the  costume  of  a Dominican 
nun.  Back  of  the  central  group  stretches  the  church, 


62 


XTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


and  through  the  arches  on  each  side  is  a glimpse  of  the 
country,  with  a castle  on  the  left  and  a farmhouse  at  the 
right.  The  figures  of  both  Mary  and  the  child  are  ex- 
quisitely rendered.  The  little  nude  body  is  unusually 
correct  in  outlines  and  construction  and  is  softly  rounded 
in  forms,  if  rather  tightly  painted,  compared  with  the 
style  of  the  far  more  modern  Luini.  His  expression  is 
both  childlike  and  dreamy,  the  far-away  look  in  his  eyes 
giving  him  a certain  aloofness  that  intensifies  the  real 
piety  so  strongly  felt  throughout  the  picture.  The 
Madonna,  in  her  red  dress  and  blue  cloak,  holds  the  child 
with  a well-expressed  pressure  of  her  slender  right  hand, 
while  with  the  other  she  keeps  open  the  Scriptures  on 
which  Jesus’s  left  hand  rests.  Her  blond  hair  waves 
softly  off  her  wide  forehead  and  falls  in  curling  masses 
over  her  shoulder.  Her  eyes  are  looking  downward  and 
she  seems  wrapped  in  a reverie  that  makes  her  quite 
unconscious  of  what  is  going  on  about  her.  The  soft  oval 
of  her  face,  her  long,  slender  nose  and  small,  but  finely 
curved  mouth  are  all  characteristic  of  klemling.  It  is  the 
Flemish  type,  indeed,  but  painted  with  the  insight,  the 
veneration,  the  real  adoration  of  this  man,  who  painted, 
one  feels,  on  his  knees.  He  is  only  equalled  in  religious 
purity  and  fervour  by  Fra  Angelico.  Among  all  Flem- 
ings he  is  unapproached. 

Besides  the  pictures  noted,  two  by  Ingres  deserve 
mention.  These,  as  well  as  the  Memling,  were  be- 
queathed to  the  Louvre  by  Mme.  la  Comtesse  Duchatel, 
in  whose  honour  the  room  was  named.  Of  these  two. 
La  Source  is  by  far  the  more  beautiful.  It  was  not 
painted  till  Ingres  was  seventy-six  years  old,  though 
he  made  a sketch  for  it  forty  years  earlier. 

Against  the  rock  at  the  foot  of  which  is  a shallow 
pool,  stands  the  nude  figure  of  a slender  girl,  holding 


LA  SOURCE 

By  Ingres 


Salle  Bucbatel 


63 


on  her  left  shoulder  a Greek  vase  which  she  has  tipped 
far  up,  and  out  of  which  the  water  is  running  into  the 
pool  at  her  feet.  Her  blond  head  is  bent  slightly  to  the 
left  under  the  raised  right  arm,  and  her  weight  rests  on 
her  left  leg,  the  right  drawn  back  a very  little.  In  the 
pool  her  bare  feet  are  reflected.  This  figure  is  as  beauti- 
ful as  a Grecian  statue  of  the  great  Grecian  epoch,  and  is 
as  subtly  modelled,  as  smoothly  rounded,  its  tones  as 
exquisitely  graded  as  any  marble  from  a master’s  hand 
could  be.  Purity,  grace,  perfection  of  line,  are  here 
carried  to  such  a height  that  for  the  moment  it  is  easy  to 
forget  how  Titian’s  rendering  of  such  a subject  would 
glow  with  colour,  or  how  the  flesh  would  fairly  throb 
with  its  pulsing  life.  In  its  own  way  it  is  a bit  of  almost 
absolute  perfection,  — so  perfect  that  even  Ingres’s  adver- 
saries must  acknowledge  its  masterliness. 

The  other  by  Ingres,  Qfdipus  Interrogating  the  Sphinx, 
is  far  less  satisfactory.  A youth  of  extraordinarily 
faultless  Greek  figure  is  seen  in  profile  within  a grotto 
which  opens  at  the  right,  giving  a glimpse  of  sky  and 
clouds,  and,  lower  down,  a village.  CEdipus  is  nude  save 
for  a sort  of  mantle-like  scarf  which  is  thrown  over  his 
right  shoulder  and  falls  between  his  knees.  Bending 
over,  with  his  elbow  resting  on  his  knee,  he  seems  to  be 
questioning  the  so-called  Sphinx,  a woman-headed  sort  of 
griffin.  Behind  CEdipus,  seen  through  the  opening,  a 
man  is  flying  in  fright.  The  young  Greek  is  so  carefully 
drawn,  so  smoothly  modelled,  indeed,  so  tiresomely  drawn 
and  modelled,  that  it  cannot  arouse  the  enthusiasm  such 
perfection  otherwise  might. 


CHAPTER  V. 


GRANDE  GALERIE  — ITALIAN  DIVISIONS 

The  Grande  Galerie,  numbered  VI.  on  the  plan,  is 
divided  into  six  bays.  The  first  three  of  these,  and  part 
of  the  fourth,  are  devoted  to  the  Italian  school.  In  the 
fourth  however,  besides  the  few  late  Italians,  are  most 
of  the  Spanish,  English  and  German  pictures  owned 
by  the  Louvre.  The  fifth  and  sixth  bays  contain  Elemish 
works.  For  convenience  of  placing,  these  bays  are  marked 
A,  B,  C,  D,  E and  F,  as  they  are  in  the  general  catalogue 
of  the  Louvre. 

Beginning  at  the  Italian  end,  which  has  an  entrance 
from  both  Salle  des  Primitifs  and  the  Salon  Carre,  one 
of  the  earliest  masters  represented  is  Francesco  di  Marco 
di  Giacomo  Raibolini,  known  generally  by  the  name  he 
took  in  honour  of  his  first  master,  II  Francia.  The 
Nativity  and  the  Crucifixion  do  not  show  II  Francia  at  his 
best,  though  the  latter,  with  the  figure  of  Job  kneeling  at 
the  foot  of  the  cross,  does  give  some  adequate  idea  of  the 
tender  gravity  that  is  so  notable  a distinction  of  the 
Bolognese  painter.  II  Francia,  says  M.  Alexandre,  is 
somewhat  the  Perugino  of  Bologna,  with  more  reflection 
and  less  spontaneity  than  Perugino  possessed.  His 
figures,  if  not  made  so  much  after  a formula,  have,  on 
the  whole,  less  personality,  and  he  has,  continues  the 
French  critic,  a predilection  for  calm  and  pure  tj-pes,  for 

64 


Oran&c  (Balerie 


6s 


pleasing  landscape,  for  silhouettes  against  a light  back- 
ground, and  for  intense  limpidness  of  tones.  Undoubt- 
edly it  is  true  that  Francia  was  influenced  by  Perugino 
and  later  by  Raphael.  His  works  have  a sweet  serious- 
ness, a placid  joy  and  a serenity  that  partakes  of 
Raphael’s  earlier  manner  and  in  general  of  the  school  of 
Perugino,  His  colour  is  rich  and  full,  rather  less  trans- 
parent than  the  Umbrian  school  at  its  best.  His  types  are 
not  generally  beautiful,  but  there  is  a reverent  air,  a 
humble  every-day  sort  of  piety  in  all  his  works  that  make 
them  the  highest  achievements  of  the  Bolognese  school. 
Contrary  to  perhaps  the  general  rule  of  Italian  painting, 
he  is  most  successful  in  his  easel  pictures.  Vasari’s 
story  of  Francia’s  death  from  envy  of  the  young  Raphael 
is  one  of  his  numerous  decorative  fictions.  The  two 
painters,  when  Raphael  was  in  all  his  glory  at  Rome,  and 
when  Francia  was  an  old  man,  were,  it  seems  likely, 
acquainted,  and  it  may  be  that  Raphael  did  send  a picture 
for  a church  in  Bologna  to  the  care  of  Francia.  It  is 
even  possible  that  not  long  after  receiving  the  St.  Cecilia, 
the  old  Bolognese  painter  was  taken  with  the  sickness 
that  proved  mortal.  It  is  far  from  likely,  however,  that 
this  sickness  was  caused  by  his  overmastering  envy  at 
the  sight  of  painting  so  far  from  what  he  could  produce. 

The  Nativity  represents  the  infant  Jesus  lying  on 
the  ground,  his  head  resting  on  a hard,  round  pillow, 
his  mother,  Joseph  and  two  angels  kneeling  in  adoration 
around  him.  The  angel  in  the  centre  is  a really  lovely 
creation.  Her  little  body  is  drawn  with  a fineness  of  line 
matching  the  purity  of  her  face.  Mary,  too,  who  is 
something  of  the  Peruginesque  type,  is  scarcely  less 
lovely.  The  line  from  the  top  of  her  head  to  her  right 
shoulder  is  charming  in  its  sweep  and  curve.  As  a com- 
position the  picture  is  not  highly  successful.  The  group 


66 


TIbe  Hrt  ot  tbe  Xouvre 


in  the  foreground  is  too  much  of  a straight  mass  and 
insufficiently  balances  the  background  of  high  cliffs  and 
distant  mountains. 

Perugino  has  a Holy  Family,  and  a Combat  between 
Love  and  Charity  in  the  first  division.  Judged  by  the 
height  Perugino  reached  in  his  finest  mural  paintings, 
he  is  a great  painter.  Judged  by  innumerable  easel 
pictures,  he  is  weak,  sentimental,  sugary.  It  is  because 
these  latter  are  so  many  and  so  broadly  scattered  that  the 
general  opinion  has  given  Perugino  a relatively  low 
place  in  art.  At  his  best,  however,  he  is  so  fine,  says 
so  fully  the  last  word  of  the  quattrocento,  is  so  far  in 
advance  of  most  of  his  contemporaries  in  purity  and 
brilliance  of  colour,  in  feeling  for  the  nude,  in  a very 
unusual  perception  of  the  beauty  and  value  of  landscape 
and  in  appreciation  of  compositional  unity,  that  he  must 
be  given,  as  the  American  editors  of  Vasari  say,  “ one 
of  the  very  highest  places  in  the  secondary  group.” 

His  Holy  Family  is  one  of  the  half-length  pictures  he 
so  often  painted.  The  Virgin  is  sitting  in  full  face, 
holding  the  Christ-child  on  her  knee.  St.  Catherine  of 
Alexandria,  in  a gold  brocaded  gown  and  carrying  a pen, 
is  on  the  right,  Joseph,  in  a red  mantle,  at  the  left.  The 
Madonna  has  a red  waist  and  blue  mantle.  Her  face 
is  heavier  about  the  chin  than  usual  with  Perugino,  but, 
though  far  from  one  of  his  best  easel  pictures,  there  are 
still  the  grace  and  purity  of  expression  peculiar  to 
him  and  which,  in  his  greatest  works,  reach  a nobility 
that  is  as  fine  as  it  is  beautiful. 

Isabella  d’Este  ordered  the  Combat  between  Love 
and  Charity,  giving  very  full  directions  as  to  how  it 
should  be  painted.  It  was  finished  in  distemper,  about 
1505.  It  is  not  one  of  Perugino’s  most  successful  works 
in  composition,  in  expression  or  in  colour.  A wide 


Granbe  ©alede 


67 


prairie-like  field  with  scattered  trees  and  bushes  and  a 
rolling  line  of  hills  toward  the  back  is  the  scene  of  the 
conflict.  A most  unequal  conflict  it  seems,  too,  though, 
in  accordance  with  his  orders,  Perugino  left  the  actual 
outcome  of  the  affair  uncertain.  In  the  foreground 
Venus  and  Diana  are  engaged  in  a hand-to-hand  battle. 
Diana,  at  the  left,  aims  her  arrow  straight  at  Venus’s 
breast,  while  the  goddess  of  love  has  meanwhile  applied 
her  torch  to  her  opponent’s  drapery,  which  already  is 
scorched.  A little  at  the  left  Pallas  is  seen  holding 
Cupid  by  a bandage  tied  over  his  eyes.  His  bow  and 
arrows  are  broken  at  his  feet,  and  her  lance  is  poised 
to  pierce  the  little  fellow  to  the  heart.  All  about  are 
other  Loves,  satyrs,  and  the  nymphs  of  Diana.  The 
little  Loves  are  much  the  best  of  the  whole  scene,  the 
one  who  is  climbing  a tree  being  the  mbst  exquisite  bit 
of  all.  Altogether,  though  the  serene  sky  and  softly 
rolling  plain  are  admirably  treated,  it  was  a subject  which 
was  far  from  Perugino’s  taste. 

A very  poor  Virgin  and  Child  that  is  ascribed  to  Pin- 
turicchio,  gives  no  idea  of  the  rarely  fascinating  quali- 
ties of  this  master  of  decoration.  Pinturicchio,  though 
said  to  be  a pupil  of  Perugino,  seems  to  have  acquired 
comparatively  few  of  his  teacher’s  peculiarities,  and  he 
never  learned  to  draw  the  human  figure  with  surety  or 
ease.  Nevertheless,  his  frescoes  at  Siena  and  Rome  are 
among  the  world’s  treasures.  As  has  been  well  said, 
they  are  full  of  “ an  ever-present,  tireless  fancy,  a joyoiis 
and  fertile  imagination.” 

Full  of  none  of  these  is  the  Virgin  and  Child  here. 
It  has  the  golden  background  he  loved  so  well  to  paint, 
and  shows  the  Madonna  seated  between  two  saints,  hold- 
ing a book  upon  which  the  child  Jesus  writes. 

Nowhere  so  well  as  at  the  Louvre  can  Leonardo  da 


68 


Ubc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


Vinci  be  studied.  Of  the  nine  pictures  most  generally 
regarded  as  actually  by  him  the  Louvre  possesses  four, 
and  these  four  are,  with  the  exception  of  the  Cenacola, 
his  most  important  works  and  the  best  preserved  of  all. 

For  four  hundred  years  the  world  has  sung  the  praises 
of  Leonardo.  Honoured,  admired  and  adored  in  his  own 
time  by  both  his  countrymen  and  foreigners  to  an  ex- 
tent accorded  few  men  that  history  ranks  great,  the  cen- 
turies have  but  added  wreaths  to  the  laurels  of  his  fame. 
Perhaps  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  things  about  this 
fame  is  its  unlimited  scope.  “ Beyond  all  men  in  all 
things,”  seems  to  be  its  dictum.  And  indeed,  there  is 
scarcely  any  department  of  human  thought  or  activity 
for  which  he  does  not  stand  as  inventor,  instigator,  pred- 
ecessor or  at  least  godfather.  Physiologist,  astrono- 
mer, mathematician,  engineer,  essayist,  poet,  musician, 
architect,  sculptor,  painter,  — these  are  but  few  of  the 
titles  he  earned  in  his  wonderful  life.  Born  into  the 
awakening  consciousness  of  a world  whose  dawn  of 
modern  life  was  flushing  her  horizon,  it  is  as  if  all  the 
erstwhile  slumbering  forces  of  a mighty  universe  awoke 
to  And  in  him  a perfect  medium  for  expression.  Even 
to-day,  science,  invention,  mechanism,  see  his  explana- 
tions, his  models,  his  appliances,  in  advance  of  their  new 
est  discoveries.  The  world  is  still  observing  the  fulfilment 
of  the  prognostications  of  this  magician  of  the  fifteenth 
century.  This  is  what  makes  Leonardo’s  name  a 
synonym  for  all  wisdom,  for  all  insight,  for  all  discovery, 
for  all  genius.  No  life  was  ever  so  wide  in  its  activities, 
so  penetrating  in  its  percep^'Lns,  so  accomplished  in  its 
manifestations.  And  yet,  the  curious  part  of  it  is  that  it 
is  due  to  the  least  of  these  manifestations  of  his  genius 
that  his  name  is  accorded  such  world-wide  pseans  of 
applause.  For  the  part  that  painting  played  in  the  life 


Gran&e  Galerie 


69 


of  this  Florentine,  compared  with  all  the  other  activities 
of  his  crowded  years,  is  as  a noonday  rest  in  a week  of 
toil.  And  of  what  he  accomplished  in  this  brief  nooning, 
only  one  perfectly  complete  picture  is  known  to  exist 
to-day.  And  that,  as  well  as  the  others  which  his  brush 
left  unfinished,  has  so  suffered  froms  the  ravages  of 
time,  of  the  restorer  and  of  his  own  feverish  experiments, 
that  any  adequate  idea  of  their  first  estate  mnst  be  im- 
possible. Nevertheless,  it  is  safe  to  say  that  Leonardo’s 
genius,  even  his  genius  as  shown  in  hydraulics,  in  mathe- 
matics, in  physiology,  in  astronomy,  in  what-not,  rests 
largely  upon  just  these  few,  dimmed,  incomplete,  half- 
destroyed  pictures.  He  would  be  known  to  scientific 
students  in  many  and  diverse  fields  as  a wonderful  fore- 
runner, a marvellous  discoverer.  But  it  is  his  Cenacola, 
his  Mona  Lisa,  that  have  drawn  the  attention  of  the 
entire  world  to  his  unlimited  explorations,  his  preeminent 
inventions,  his  unapproached  supremacy  in  almost  every 
line  of  human  speculation  and  endeavour. 

He  has  always  been  called  a Florentine,  but  he  was 
really  born  at  Vinci,  half-way  between  Florence  and  Pisa. 
Entering  Verocchio’s  studio  when  fifteen,  where  were 
Perugino  and  Lorenzo  di  Credi,  at  twenty  he  was  a 
member  of  the  Painters’  Guild,  and  soon  after  was  in 
receipt  of  a pension.  From  Florence,  somewhere  between 
1482  and  1487,  he  went  to  Milan,  and  was  in  the  service 
of  Lodovico  Sforza,  where  he  not  only  modelled  the 
famous  colossal  statue  of  Lodovico’s  father,  but  where 
he  was  engineer,  painter,  architect  and  general  scientific 
consulter  of  the  Milanese  court.  It  is  during  these  years 
that  the  Virgin  of  the  Rocks  now  in  the  Louvre,  was 
painted.  From  1449,  after  the  downfall  of  Lodovico,  for 
sixteen  years  Leonardo  travelled  everywhere  in  the 
Italian  peninsula,  fulfilling  all  kinds  of  important  com- 


70 


XTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


missions.  In  1505  came  the  exposition  of  his  cartoon 
of  the  Florentines  and  Milanese  at  Anghiari,  and  some- 
where near  this  date  must  the  Mona  Lisa  be  placed.  In 
1515,  after  repeated  urgings  from  France,  Leonardo  went 
to  Paris,  where  Francois  1.  lodged  him  as  befitted  his 
fame,  and  treated  him  henceforth  with  the  greatest 
honour.  The  St.  Anne  in  the  Louvre  is  the  only  painted 
record  we  have  of  these  years.  In  1519  the  great  spirit 
was  at  rest. 

The  Madonna  of  the  Rocks  is  so  named  from  the  rocky 
cavern  in  which  the  group  is  placed.  In  the  centre  Mary 
is  kneeling  in  nearly  full  face,  her  right  hand  out- 
stretched and  resting  on  the  shoulder  of  the  little  St. 
John,  who  kneels  at  the  left  of  the  picture.  His  hands  are 
clasped  in  adoring  praise  and  in  his  arms  is  his  long 
reed  cross.  Mary’s  left  hand  is  spread  open  and  is  held 
above  the  head  of  the  tiny  Christ  who  sits  in  front  of  her 
in  profile,  his  right  hand  lifted,  blessing  the  little  Baptist. 
He  is  supported  by  a young  girl  angel  sitting  beside  him, 
her  wings  half  lost  in  the  shadow.  Behind  the  group 
the  rocky  walls  of  the  cave  break  into  sharp  points  and 
open  places,  showing  a winding  stream  and  distant  moun- 
tains. The  whole  scene  is  one  of  ineffable  beauty.  The 
Virgin  has  something  of  the  smile  of  Mona  Lisa,  but  it  is 
chastened,  saddened  and  more  tender.  The  lines  of  her 
face  are  longer,  her  head  is  more  delicate,  with  finer,  purer 
planes.  The  angel  is  still  lovelier.  There  is  such  match- 
less purity,  such  a winsome  wistfulness,  such  a naivete, 
and  yet  such  a w^onderful  pride  as  no  painter  had  ex- 
pressed before.  Gautier  says  that  no  human  face  has  ever 
had  such  beauty,  — it  is  what  men  may  only  dream  of. 
As  for  the  children,  he  goes  on  to  cry  rapturously  that 
“ FTothing  could  be  more  admirable  than  the  foreshorten- 
ing of  the  two  tender  little  crouching  bodies,  nothing 


(Bran&e  Oalerie 


7^ 


more  finely  modelled  than  the  little  limbs,  with  their  in- 
finite gradations  of  shadow.”  The  picture  is  darkened 
by  the  years,  but  still  keeps  a tender  harmony  of  tones. 

St.  John  the  Baptist  was  also  in  the  collection  of  Fran- 
gois  I.  It  has  grown  very  deep  in  the  shadows,  and  has 
been  repainted  in  many  places.  But  neither  time  nor  un- 
skilled hands  have  wholly  spoiled  the  wondrous  modelling 
of  the  face  or  of  that  uplifted  hand  and  arm.  It  is  a half- 
length  figure  showing  the  Baptist,  if  it  is  he,  standing, 
with  his  body  facing  the  right,  his  face  turned  far  toward 
the  left.  In  his  left  hand  he  holds  the  tall  reed  cross, 
while  with  his  right  he  points  up  to  it. 

The  claim  that  he  does  not  represent  the  Man  of  the 
Wilderness  at  all  seems  borne  out  by  his  type  of  face  and 
especially  by  his  expression.  It  is  the  head  of  a Greek 
nymph  or  fawn,  — for  it  is  hard  to  guess  whether  it  be 
man  or  woman,  — soft,  luxurious  in  outline,  full  of  an 
aesthetic  beauty  of  curve  and  contour,  only  intensified  and 
made  more  voluptuously  seductive  by  the  entrancing 
smile  of  the  curving  lips,  the  dancing  light  in  the  melting 
eyes  that  look  out  from  under  the  wealth  of  curls.  The 
mystery  of  the  shadow  out  of  which  his  figure  emerges 
as  if  drawn  from  a dream  into  reality,  adds  to  the  sublety 
and  tenderness  of  the  modelling  of  this  face  and  shoulder 
and  arm. 

There  is  more  doubt  among  critics  about  the  portrait 
called  La  Belle  Feronniere.  Morelli,  Frizzoni,  Richter, 
Armstrong  and  Berenson  consider  it  not  at  all  his  work, 
while  Muntz,  Liibke,  Rosenburg,  Brun  and  Gruyer  all 
think  it  can  belong  to  no  one  else.  It  is  badly  cracked 
and  has  been  much  repainted.  In  spite  of  a certain  hard- 
ness in  contour  and  modelling,  with  a decided  lack  of  that 
suavity  so  peculiarly  Leonardo’s,  the  portrait  has  great 
charm  and  is  full  of  a personality  that,  if  far  less  intense 


72 


XTbe  art  of  tbe  Xouvre 


and  subjective  than  the  Mona  Lisa,  is  franker,  simpler 
and  perhaps  more  honest.  And  out  of  the  eyes  looks 
the  soul  as  only  Leonardo  and  Rembrandt  could  show  it. 

It  is  hardly  a half-length  figure,  a balustrade  cutting 
it  above  the  waist  line.  She  is  in  three-quarters  position, 
dressed  in  a square-cut  velvet  gown  with  a pearl  necklace 
wound  four  times  about  her  firm,  full  neck.  Her  hair  is 
brought  down  on  to  each  cheek  and  covers  both  ears,  with 
a jewel  on  the  forehead  between  the  waves.  She  is 
evidently  a “ lady  of  quality,”  though  not  now  believed  to 
be  Isabella  of  Mantua.  It  seenos  more  probable  that  she 
was  Lucrezia  Crevelli  of  Milan. 

Salome  Receiving  the  Head  of  John  the  Baptist,  by 
Luini,  was  in  the  collection  of  Louis  XIV.  Salome,  in  a 
green  dress  with  plaited  muslin  undersleeves  and  chemi- 
sette, stands  at  the  left,  a half-length  figure  only,  holding 
in  her  outstretched  hands  the  huge  platter.  At  the  right, 
on  about  a line  with  her  forehead,  a hand,  wrist  and 
bit  of  sleeve  appear,  the  rest  of  the  arm  as  well  as  all  the 
person  owning  it  being  out  of  the  picture.  The  hand 
holds  by  the  hair  the  severed  head  of  the  Baptist,  streams 
of  blood  running  from  it  into  the  platter.  The  grue- 
someness  of  the  scene  is  intensified  by  this  unattached 
hand  coming  out,  it  seems,  of  nowhere,  with  its  prey. 
Salome  has  an  unusual  sort  of  beauty,  with  no  hint  of 
wickedness,  unless  it  lies  in  the  depths  of  those  calmly 
watching  eyes.  She  is  absolutely  indifferent,  apparently, 
to  the  fearful  trophy  she  is  to  carry,  though  she  has 
turned  her  face  so  that  she  does  not  actually  see  it.  The 
red  brown  tresses  falling  in  waves  over  her  temples  and 
down  below  her  shoulders,  emphasize  her  pure,  pale 
beauty,  and  with  their  colour,  joined  to  the  sombre  flames 
in  those  mysterious  eyes,  help  to  suggest  the  passionate 
possibilities  in  this  otherwise  seemingly  coldly  placid 


Granbe  Galerie 


73 


woman.  The  head  of  John  is  livid ; its  bluish  lips,  its 
fallen,  dead  lids  that  still  appear  to  quiver  with  the  last 
agony,  the  dripping  blood,  — all  adding  to  its  ghastly 
horror. 

Fra  Bartolommeo  and  Albertinelli  are  each  represented 
here  by  two  pictures.  The  Holy  Family,  sometimes 
called  The  Marriage  of  St.  Catherine,  was  painted  by 
Bartolommeo  while  the  two  men  were  still  working  in 
companionship,  but  it  is  wholly  by  the  Frate’s  hand. 
After  he  had  finished  it  he  painted  another,  like  it  except 
for  certain  variations,  which  is  now  in  the  Pitti.  The 
one  here  was  done  in  15  ii  for  the  convent  of  San  Marco. 
The  following  year  the  Florentine  government  purchased 
it  and  gave  it  to  Jacques  Hurault,  Bishop  of  Autun,  and 
then  envoy  of  Louis  XII.  at  Florence.  He  bequeathed 
it  to  the  cathedral  at  Autun,  and  there  it  stayed  till  the 
French  Revolution,  when  it  was  taken  away  and  at  length 
placed  in  the  Louvre. 

It  represents  the  Virgin  on  a low  throne  under  a sort 
of  dome,  with  the  child  Jesus  standing  at  her  knee,  plac- 
ing the  ring  on  the  hand  of  St.  Catherine  of  Siena,  who 
kneels  at  the  left  at  his  feet.  On  either  side  are  groups 
of  saints,  and  above  three  beautifully  modelled  angels 
lift  the  folds  of  the  green  drapery  that  depends  from  the 
curving  dome.  Mary  is  clad  in  a red  robe,  a long  blue 
mantle  lined  with  green  hanging  from  her  shoulders. 
Her  position  is  both  noble  and  graceful,  the  lines  con- 
forming admirably  to  the  space  allotted  her.  One  hand 
is  on  her  knee  loosely  holding  a book,  while  with  the  tips 
of  the  fingers  of  her  other  hand  she  gently  touches  the 
forehead  of  the  little  Jesus.  Her  head  is  bent  downward 
and  to  the  left,  and,  with  the  soft,  contemplative  curves 
of  her  lovely  mouth,  the  purity  of  her  brow,  and  her  ador- 
able chin,  she  is  one  of  the  Frate’s  fairest  creations. 


74 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


The  child  is  a round,  rosy,  smiling  babe,  and  if  not  of  a 
very  high  order  spiritually  considered,  yet  with  an  en- 
trancing humanness  about  him  that  is  rarely  appealing. 
St.  Catherine,  who  kneels  nearly  back  to,  her  profile  lost 
in  shadow,  is  dressed  in  the  white  of  the  Dominican 
order.  She  makes,  with  her  substantial,  firmly  modelled 
figure,  a splendid  balance,  bringing  the  centre  of  the 
picture  thus  nearer  to  the  foreground,  though  she  herself 
is  so  treated  that  one’s  eyes  slip  directly  from  her  to  the 
child  before  her.  The  saints  on  each  side  are  noble, 
individualized  personages,  giving,  by  the  arrangement  of 
the  lines  of  their  figures  and  draperies,  a fine  depth  to 
the  picture.  On  the  left  are  St.  Peter,  St.  Vincent  and  St. 
Stephen.  On  the  right  a young  girl  saint  in  green  and 
red,  St.  Bartholomew  and  another  saint,  and  in  the  back- 
ground St.  Dominic  and  St.  Francis  are  observed  em- 
bracing each  other. 

If  this  picture  is  not  one  of  Fra  Bartolommeo’s  greatest 
efforts,  it  does  give  a very  fair  idea  of  his  especial  abili- 
ties. It  is  as  a master  of  composition,  this  term  including 
not  only  well-balanced  masses,  but  a management  of 
drapery  so  skilful  that  they  become  integral  parts  of  the 
pictorial  scheme,  and  as  a rich  and  harmonious  colourist, 
that  he  takes  rank  among  the  leading  painters  of  the 
great  Florentine  school.  He  was  one  of  the  very  first 
of  the  Renaissance  masters  to  feel  the  beauty  of  space, 
and  to  treat  his  figures  not  as  individuals  so  much,  but 
as  adjuncts  to  the  picture  as  a whole.  His  scheme  of 
geometrical  and  rhythmical  composition  was  similar  to 
Leonardo’s,  but  he  carried  it  to  a scientific  extent  not 
attempted  by  Leonardo.  Bartolommeo’s  draperies,  till 
they  became  overheavy  and  voluminous  from  the  in- 
fluence of  Michelangelo,  are  rarely  beautiful,  falling  in 
line  and  fold  with  a stateliness  that  is  almost  as  express- 


(BranDe  (Balerie 


75 


ive  as  the  figures  themselves.  In  colour,  too,  especially 
after  his  visit  to  Venice,  Bartolommieo  shows  a vigour 
and  brilliancy  joined  with  a richness  and  depth  unexcelled 
by  any  of  his  contemporaries,  and  beyond  that  of  any 
Florentine  of  his  day. 

Albertinelli  never  equalled  his  friend  as  a painter,  but 
his  pictures  have  many  of  the  same  general  characteristics, 
and  if  he  had  never  done  anything  but  his  Visitation,  nowi 
in  the  Uffizi,  it  would  be  enough  to  rank  him  as  an  admi- 
rable artist.  And  in  all  his  work  he  is  felt  to  have  been 
a serious,  dignified  and  earnest  worker. 

Of  his  two  pictures  in  the  Louvre,  the  Virgin  and 
Child  is  the  more  interesting.  In  it  Mary,  heavily  draped, 
stands  on  a pedestal,  holding  the  infant  Jesus  in  her  arms. 
He  is  turning  to  the  left  to  bless  St.  Jerome  who  kneels 
at  the  side  of  the  pedestal  reading  from  a big  book.  At 
the  right  is  St.  Zenobius  in  his  episcopal  robes,  his  mitre 
before  him.  His  hands  are  met  in  prayerful  adoration,  and 
his  fine  old  head,  which  is  in  profile,  is  lifted  to  the  group 
above.  Behind  him  in  the  landscape  are  scenes  taken 
from  his  life,  while  back  of  St.  Jerome,  on  a rocky  moun- 
tain, are  depicted  episodes  from  his  career.  The  pedestal 
is  ornamented  with  a low  relief  of  Adam  and  Eve,  the 
serpent  wound  about  a tree-trunk  between  them.  The 
pyramidal  form  here  used  is  evidence  of  Bartolommeo’s 
influence,  though  the  latter  usually  employed  it  in  a less 
patent  and  simple  manner.  The  figure  of  Mary,  if  rather 
overweighted  with  clothes,  has  a nobility  of  bearing  that, 
with  a trifle  less  movement  of  the  head,  would  be  classic 
in  its  pose. 

There  are  four  pictures  by  Andrea  Solario,  in  the  first 
bay,  of  which  the  Virgin  with  the  Green  Cushion  is  by 
far  the  most  lovely.  In  this,  as  in  much  of  his  work, 
Solario  shovv^s  how  strongly  he  was  influenced  by  Leo- 


76 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  3Lourre 


nardo  in  both  modelling  and  treatment  of  chiaroscuro.  M, 
Alexandre,  however,  remarks  that  he  often  reflects  more 
the  old  school  of  Lombardy  and  of  Padua.  But  there  are 
also  other  influences  discernible  in  his  paintings.  For 
though  he  is  classed  as  belonging  to  the  Lombard  school, 
he  was  much  in  Venice,  where  he  certainly  was  brought 
into  contact  with  the  works  of  the  Flemish  school  and  of 
Antonello  da  Messina.  He  also  went  to  France  and 
decorated  the  chapel  of  the  Chateau  de  Gaillon. 

The  Madonna  with  the  Green  Cushion  is  one  of 
Solario’s  most  celebrated  pictures,  and  is  full  of  a ma- 
ternal tenderness  that  is  supremely  affecting.  Lifting 
the  child  slightly  with  her  right  hand  from  the  green 
cushion  where  he  lies,  the  Madonna  bends  over  to  nurse 
himi.  Behind  them  is  a mass  of  foliage  on  each  side  of 
which  a distant  landscape  can  be  seen.  The  child  has 
a round  little  body  of  most  bewitching  curves,  and 
modelled  with  the  fulness  and  freedom  of  a hand  sure 
and  supple.  His  baby-like  attitude  as  he  grabs  his  right 
foot  and  strikes  out  into  the  air  with  the  other,  is 
more  naturalistic  than  would  have  seemed  possible  to 
painters  even  a few  years  before  Solario’s  time.  As  uncon- 
ventional and  natural  is  the  baby’s  beautiful  head  with  its 
thick,  long  curls,  its  broad  forehead,  its  questioning  eyes. 
Mary,  as  she  leans  over,  is  equally  lovely.  Her  soft  hair, 
rolling  off  her  forehead,  is  mostly  hidden  by  a thick  white 
drapery.  Nothing  more  appealing  than  her  love-lit  face 
can  be  imagined,  drawn  as  it  is  wdth  an  exquisiteness 
of  line  only  matched  by  its  spiritual  expression. 

The  Portrait  of  Charles  d’Amboise  is  an  example  of 
what  Solario  could  do  in  portraiture.  It  too,  M.  Alex- 
andre says,  suggests  Leonardo  in  its  treatment.  At  all 
events  it  is  a vigorous,  lifelike  portrait,  whose  accuracy 
of  line  and  proportion  is  balanced  by  its  excellent  colour 


Orange  Galede 


77 


and  lighting.  It  is  not  much  more  than  a bust,  showing 
M.  d’Amiboise  clad  in  a very  magnificent  brocaded  and 
fur-trimmed  garment,  with  a heavy  chain  over  his 
shoulders  and  a cap  on  his  Medici-cut  hair.  Turned  three- 
quarters  to  the  left,  he  is  painted  with  his  eyes  looking 
directly  at  the  spectator.  A landscape  of  winding  river 
and  distant  mountains  again  reminds  one  of  Leonardo. 

The  Head  of  St.  John  cut  off  and  placed  on  a dish  is 
even  more  Leonardesque  in  its  feeling. 

A Christ  Appearing  to  Mary  Magdalene,  by  Credi,  is  a 
poor  replica  of  the  same  subject  in  the  Uffizi.  The  surface 
has  been  much  abraded.  Christ  is  in  the  garden  walking 
toward  the  left  and  stopping  to  turn  and  bless  the  Magda- 
lene, who  is  kneeling  at  the  right.  The  figure  of  Christ 
is  lacking  in  dignity  and  power  and  his  face  in  expres- 
sion. Mary’s  face  is  more  successful,  and  her  long  curl- 
ing hair  is  well  treated,  but  as  a whole  it  is  not  even 
a good  example  of  Credi. 

Of  very  different  calibre  are  the  four  pictures  by 
Andrea  del  Sarto  in  Bay  A of  the  Grande  Galerie.  From 
the  time  of  Vasari  Andrea  del  Sarto’s  name  has  been 
coupled  with  dishonour,  disaster  and  despair.  Dis- 
honour, because  he  confiscated  to  his  own  use  funds  that 
had  been  confided  to  him  for  other  purposes ; disaster, 
because  he  was  married  to  a termagant,  a coquette  and 
an  utterly  selfish,  headstrong  woman,  and  because  he  was 
shunned  by  his  compatriots  after  his  theft ; despair, 
because  of  anguish  at  his  own  misdeeds,  his  wife’s  perfidy 
and  his  failure  to  reach  the  standard  in  art  set  by  Leo- 
nardo, Michelangelo  and  Raphael.  The  man  himself  has 
been  more  the  subject  of  controversy  and  question  than 
have  been  his  works.  It  would  seem  as  if,  having  dis- 
cussed his  personality  with  all  the  avidity  of  a cross-road 
gossip,  the  scandal-mongers  found  no  time  to  consider 


78 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


his  pictures.  If  such  consideration  was  given,  however, 
the  paintings  did  not  greatly  gain  thereby.  Compared 
always,  and,  be  it  noted,  only,  with  those  of  Michelangelo, 
Leonardo  and  Raphael,  they  were  rapidly  dismissed  as 
being  neither  so  majestic,  so  powerful,  so  purely  beautiful 
nor  so  epoch-making. 

The  facts  of  the  case  now  appear  to  show  that  Andrea 
del  Sarto  has  been  maligned  by  historian,  poet  and  critic. 
Absolutely  no  proof  of  his  treachery  to  Franqois  I.  can 
be  found,  except  Vasari’s  word.  Many  other  things 
make  it  extremely  improbable  that  Vasari’s  statement  was 
even  approximately  true.  That  he  died  despised  by  his 
countrymen,  with  his  works  unsought,  unbought,  another 
of  Vasari’s  cheerful  bits  of  scandal,  is  proved  to  be  the 
exact  opposite  of  the  truth.  There  only  remains  the 
truculent  account  of  poor  Del  Sarto’s  wife.  Whether  this 
is  true  or  not,  is  perhaps  less  possible  of  verification.  But 
at  least  even  Vasari  states  that  Del  Sarto  counted  himself 
proud  to  be  the  husband  of  the  beautiful  woman  who 
was  always  his  Madonna  model.  And  surely,  if  the  hus- 
band was  satisfied,  he  required  no  pity. 

As  a painter  the  criticism  stands  more  just,  though  in 
its  terms  far  too  limited.  Michelangelo,  at  his  supremest, 
did  reach  heights  Andrea  never  scaled ; Leonardo,  when 
the  mood  was  on  him,  explored  the  mystery,  the  secrets 
of  a world  Andrea  scarce  knew  existed ; Raphael,  the 
loved  of  gods  and  men,  at  his  happiest  wielded  a brush 
that  turned  all  to  gold  when  Andrea  might,  at  best,  have 
only  silvered.  And  yet,  that  is  only  half-truth.  For,  to 
begin  with,  Andrea  del  Sarto  never  had  the  chances  that 
fate  bestowed  so  prodigally  upon  these  others.  Given  a 
Sistine  or  a Vatican  council-chamber  to  decorate,  what 
might  the  superior  call  have  forced  him  to  accomplish? 
It  was  Michelangelo  who  is  reported  to  have  told 


6ranbe  (Balede 


79 


Raphael  that  if  Del  Sarto  had  his  opportunity  he  would 
give  him  a hard  pull.  And  at  least  it  is  true  that  the 
greater  the  demand  upon  him  the  greater  his  achievement. 
As  the  American  editors  of  Vasari  have  noted,  after  the 
Sistine  and  the  Stanze,  the  mural  decoration  of  the  six- 
teenth century  in  Italy  that  can  rank  third  is  Andrea 
del  Sarto’s  series  of  frescoes  in  the  Chiostro  dello  Scalzo. 

Here  it  may  be  well  to  emphasize  again  the  fact  that 
it  is  always  with  the  mightiest  works  of  these  mighty 
masters  that  his  labours  are  compared.  It  seems  to  be 
truth  that  this  Florentine  painter,  who  was  one  of  the 
two  great  Italians  that  Frangois  I.  persuaded  to  come  to 
Paris,  suffers  most  from  his  proximity  to  the  three 
magic  names  of  Italy’s  Renaissance.  And  yet  this  very 
proximity  can  be  regarded  as  evidence  of  his  real  great- 
ness. For  he  was  never  absorbed  by  these  men.  Unlike 
the  painters  in  Rome  who  were  about  Michelangelo  and 
Raphael,  or  those  others  who  were  followers  of  Leo- 
nardo, he  never  lost  his  personality.  He  learned  to  use 
chiaroscuro  with  a skill  and  beauty  unequalled  by  any 
disciple  of  the  painter  of  the  one  Cenacola.  But  he  used  it 
in  his  own  way,  adapting  it  to  his  own  ends  and  making 
it  truly  his.  The  sweep  of  line,  the  grandeur  of  form, 
the  imposing  attitude,  — those  he  learned  perhaps  partly 
from  the  sculptor  who  painted  the  vault  of  the  Sistine 
Chapel.  Yet  it  is  always  Andrea,  not  Michelangelo,  we 
think  of  when  looking  at  a Del  Sarto  Madonna.  From 
Raphael,  too,  he  may  have  acquired  some  of  the  grace, 
the  brilliancy,  the  solidity  of  his  compositions,  — but  not 
even  by  Raphael  is  he  dominated.  In  fact,  he  was  of  him- 
self big  enough  to  take  from  any  one  what  he  wished  and 
to  transform  it  till  it  was  his  alone,  — which  assuredly 
is  a trait  of  only  the  great  originators. 

To  sum  up : in  everything  he  did  there  is  great  knowl- 


8o 


Zht  Hrt  of  tbe  3Lourre 


edge  concealed  by  greater  charm;  great  skill,  again  sub- 
merged by  the  greater  seduction  of  his  “soft  silver 
harmonies.”  There  is  grasp  of  personality,  power  of 
analysis,  ability  to  present  the  very  heart  of  the  subject, 
a colour  that  is  as  sensuous  as  it  is  delicate,  a beauty  of 
line  as  sure  as  it  is  sweeping,  an  understanding  of  compo- 
sition as  large  and  free  as  it  is  definite  and  certain,  a 
spiritual  quality  that  in  its  last  analysis  is  felt  perhaps  to 
be  allied  to  the  flesh,  yet  that  is  never  fleshly.  In  other 
words,  there  are  truth,  beauty  and  infinite  grace  in  all 
Del  Sarto’s  works.  The  best  of  them  even  closely  ap- 
proach the  grandeur  and  dignity  that  only  the  greatest 
masters  of  all  time  have  fully  expressed.  But  generally 
he  is  just  below  this  group.  He  holds  perhaps  a place 
somewhat  like  that  accorded  Van  Dyck.  If  not  among 
the  stars  of  the  first  magnitude,  he  is  above  those  of  the 
second,  and  thus  has  a unique  position,  by  its  very  separa- 
tion more  human,  more  appealing,  more  knowable. 

All  of  his  pictures  in  the  Louvre  have  suffered  greatly 
from  restoration.  So  much  indeed  have  they  been  re- 
painted, that  often,  instead  of  being  Italian  in  the  char- 
acter of  the  heads,  they  have  a distinctly  French  aspect, 
as  if  Lucrezia  had  lost  her  Italian  beauty  in  an  effort  to 
acquire  the  style  of  the  French  capital.  The  Charity,  one 
of  his  most  noble  works,  has,  in  some  respects,  been 
ruined  by  this  treatment.  Originally  it  was  upon  wood. 
In  1550  it  was  transferred  to  canvas  by  Picault,  and  then 
in  1842,  having  become  hurt  from  dampness,  it  was  once 
mpre  put  upon  a new  canvas.  The  result,  so  far  as 
colour  goes,  has  been  disastrous  in  the  extreme.  Not 
less  lamentable  is  the  change  that  has  taken  place  in  the 
face  of  Qiarity.  As  usual,  the  model  for  this  majestic 
figure  was  his  wife,  and  there  is  still  enough  left  of  the 
original  work  to  show  the  well-known  oval  of  cheek  and 


CHARITY 

By  Andrea  del  Sarto 


(BranDe  (Balerfe 


8i 

chin,  the  high  brow  and  the  deep  eyes.  But  over  it  all 
an  insidious  something  has  spread,  giving  a most  extra- 
ordinarily French  character  to  the  whole  face.  The 
general  lines  of  the  picture,  however,  the  fall  of  the 
draperies,  the  scheme  of  the  chiaroscuro,  are  presumably 
practically  as  the  painter  left  them.  And  they  are  all  of 
wonderful  beauty.  The  picture  was  painted  for  Frangois 
I.  sometime  about  1518,  soon  after  Andrea  arrived  in  the 
French  capital.  It  belongs,  then,  to  what  is  called  his 
second  period. 

In  a charming  hilly  landscape,  seated  on  a rock  in  the 
foreground,  is  Charity,  clad  in  a rose-pink  gown  and  a 
turquoise  blue  mantle.  In  her  lap  she  holds  and  nurses 
one  small,  naked  boy,  while  her  right  arm  encircles 
another  who  kneels  beside  her  and  offers  her  a bunch  of 
flowers.  Below,  at  the  left,  a third  has  flung  himself  over 
on  to  a bit  of  the  drapery  from  her  robe,  and,  with  face 
buried  in  his  arms,  is  fast  asleep  in  an  oblivion  that 
speaks  absolute  trust  in  the  care  above  him.  The 
majestic  beauty  of  this  woman,  the  noble  lines  of  her 
pose,  the  supple  folds  of  the  ample  but  quiet  drapery 
about  her,  are  beyond  praise.  Here  are  no  exaggeration 
for  effect,  no  overloading  of  drapery,  no  straining  for 
theatrical  attitude.  The  absolute  naturalness  and  sim- 
plicity of  the  whole  scheme  are  among  its  greatest  charms. 
In  spite  of  the  tender  supervision  she  evinces  for  these 
babies  in  her  care,  there  is  a certain  impersonality  in  her 
regard  that  exactly  defines  the  allegory.  As  M.  Gautier 
has  happily  observed,  she  is  Charity,  not  Maternity,  The 
three  children  are  no  less  perfect  in  their  own  way. 
Their  chubby,  well-fed  little  bodies,  over  which  the  light 
plays  so  entrancingly,  changing  from  brilliancy  to  a dim 
mysteriousness  of  shadow,  giving  an  effect  that  is  almost 
equal  to  a Correggio,  their  graceful,  childlike  abandon- 


82 


Zbc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


merit  in  their  unstudied  poses,  — all  is  rendered  with  a 
skill  that  never  strikes  a false  note.  It  is  impossible,  too, 
not  to  speak  again  of  the  wonderful  drapery  of  Charity. 
No  one,  surely,  has  ever  better  expressed  the  softness, 
the  pliability  of  stuff  than  Andrea  del  Sarto.  No  one, 
either,  has  ever  treated  big,  loose  folds  more  simply,  more 
inevitably  than  in  that  robe  as  it  falls  over  her  right  knee 
and  on  to  her  extended  foot. 

The  little  oval  picture  of  the  Holy  Family  has  been  so 
completely  repainted,  that  there  is  little  of  Del  Sarto  left. 
Only  in  the  general  lines  of  its  composition,  and  big  mass- 
ing of  light  and  shade  is  it  probably  as  he  first  blocked 
it  out.  A soft  brown  carbon  photograph  of  it  gives  per- 
haps a truer  idea  of  its  first  estate  than  does  its  present 
unsatisfactory  colour. 

On  her  knees  in  the  centre  is  the  Virgin,  almost  in 
profile,  though  her  bent  face  is  turned  three-quarters  to 
the  spectator.  On  her  lap  is  the  child  Jesus,  his  little 
body  so  twisted  that  his  back  is  brought  round  toward  the 
front,  while  his  head  is  turned  again  over  his  left  shoul- 
der as  he  looks  out  of  the  picture.  Nearly  opposite  at  the 
left  is  Elizabeth,  with  the  little  John  standing  wdthin 
her  surrounding  arms.  Elizabeth’s  face  is  in  profile  and 
she  is  looking  into  the  background  where,  behind  Mary, 
Joseph  is  seen.  The  light  falls  full  on  the  Christ-child, 
on  the  right  side  of  John  and  over  Mary’s  face  and 
Elizabeth’s  cap  and  chin.  The  rest  of  the  composition  is 
largely  submerged  in  a luminous  shadow  that,  in  its 
original  state,  must  have  been  of  rare  beauty  of  tone. 
Mary  is  again  Lucrezia,  and  has  a piquant,  girlish  charm 
that  even  restoring  has  not  spoiled.  Elizabeth’s  fine, 
strong  profile  is  even  more  interesting  in  its  suggestion 
of  vigorous  but  gentle  personality. 

The  other  Holy  Family  was,  according  to  Vasari, 


C5ran&e  (Balerie 


83 


painted  for  the  King  of  France,  who  was  so  hugely 
pleased  with  it  that  he  gave  the  merchants  who  trans- 
ported it  to  him  four  times  the  price  agreed  upon  with 
Del  Sarto.  It  is  supposed  to  be  the  original  of  those  in 
Munich  and  Vienna,  but  has,  as  usual,  been  so  badly 
repainted  that  its  first  condition  can  only  be  conjectured. 
Mary  kneels  at  the  left,  facing  three-quarters  to  the  right, 
dressed  in  a rose-coloured  robe,  with  a blue  mantle  falling 
about  her  knees.  Her  left  arm  is  on  the  shoulders  of  the 
baby  Jesus,  who,  with  his  right  knee  pressed  against  her 
leg,  and  his  right  hand  grasping  her  waist,  seems  prepar- 
ing to  spring  into  her  lap.  He  has  stopped  a second  to 
turn  a laughing,  backward  glance  over  his  shoulder  to 
the  small  St.  John  who  stands  beside  him  between  Eliza- 
beth’s knees,  her  encircling  arms  about  him.  Elizabeth 
appears  to  be  the  same  model  who  posed  for  this  charac- 
ter in  the  oval  picture.  Here  she  is  looking  down  at 
her  son,  her  head  heavily  draped  in  a white  covering  that 
comes  on  to  her  shoulders  over  her  blue  robe.  Back  of 
the  Virgin,  in  the  shadow,  are  two  angels,  their  wings 
breaking  the  dark  space  over  their  heads.  The  figures 
almost  wholly  fill  the  composition,  but  there  is  no  crowd- 
ing, no  overloading,  — always  a perfect  balance  of  parts, 
a fine  arrangement  of  light  and  shade  and  beautiful  lines. 

In  this  same  bay  are  a Nativity  and  a Portrait  of  a 
Man  by  Giulio  Romano,  Raphael’s  most  noted  assistant. 
He  not  only  worked  constantly  with  the  Urbinate  before 
he  died,  but  he  finished  many  of  his  works  after  his 
death.  While  Raphael  was  alive,  Romano’s  talent  was 
entirely  absorbed  by  his  master.  He  painted  very  little, 
if  anything,  that  was  wholly  his  own,  though  many  of 
the  works  attributed  to-day  to  Raphael  are  his  only  in 
original  conception  of  composition,  every  bit  of  the 
execution  being  by  Giulio.  After  Raphael’s  death, 


84 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


Giulio’s  own  more  impetuous  fancy,  more  robust  nature 
and  decidedly  coarser  temperament,  led  him  to  desert  the 
style  and  manner  of  the  greater  artist.  His  works 
showed  less  and  less  of  Raphael’s  influence  and  more  and 
more  exaggeration,  excessive  action  and  cruder  colour. 
Nevertheless,  Giulio  had  a vivid,  if  sometimes  rather 
hysterical  imagination,  a good,  if  occasionally  raw  sense 
of  colour.  He  was  a vigorous  draughtsman,  and  his 
compositions  had  dignity  and  not  seldom  grandeur.  Of 
his  easel  pictures,  which  are  few  except  those  he  painted 
under  Raphael’s  direction,  the  Louvre  possesses  several 
excellent  examples. 

The  Portrait  of  a Man  was  for  long  supposed  to  be  a 
likeness  of  himself.  It  was  an  incorrect  attribution, 
though  whose  it  is  is  still  a matter  of  conjecture.  The 
picture  is  a half-length,  turned  three-quarters  to  the  right, 
dressed  in  black,  with  a long  beard  and  short  black  curly 
hair.  There  is  much  spirit  in  the  handling. 

The  next  bay  of  the  Grande  Galerie  holds  a large  pro- 
portion of  the  Louvre’s  Italian  pictures.  Among  them 
are  the  two  which  the  catalogue  ascribes  to  the  brothers 
Bellini.  The  brothers  Giovanni  and  Gentile  Bellini 
were  sons  and  pupils  of  Jacopo  Bellini,  who,  in  his  turn, 
was  a pupil  of  Gentile  da  Fabriano,  and  named  his 
oldest  son  for  that  well-loved  teacher.  Giovanni  again 
was  teacher  of  Titian.  He  was  much  influenced  by 
Mantegna,  the  latter  in  turn  by  him',  so  that  some  of 
Giovanni’s  earlier  pictures  have  been  confounded  with 
Mantegna’s.  Giovanni  was  the  greatest  Venetian  painter 
of  the  fifteenth  century.  His  development  was  slow  but 
sure,  and  his  last  great  works  are  incomparably  beautiful 
in  colour,  line  and  mass.  There  are  a dignity  and  aus- 
terity about  his  Madonnas  that  no  other  Venetian  ever 
succeeded  in  expressing.  His  brother  Gentile’s  special 


(3ran&e  Oalede 


85 


field  was  portraiture,  in  which  he  was  both  realistic  and 
dramatic.  The  brush-work  of  the  two  is  smooth,  subtle 
and  almost  imperceptible. 

The  Holy  Family  catalogued  as  by  Giovanni  is,  ac- 
cording to  Morelli  and  other  authorities,  not  by  him, 
but  by  Rondinello,  one  of  his  pupils  and  assistants.  It 
has,  of  course,  certain  “ Bellinesque  ” traits,  as  would  be 
natural  in  the  work  of  an  assistant.  There  is  a hint  of 
the  wonderful  golden  tone  of  Giovanni ; the  Madonna 
has  something  of  the  grand  aloofness  of  the  Venetian, 
and  the  drawing  and  modelling  recall  Giovanni,  if  not 
at  his  highest.  Like  so  many  of  the  Bellini  pictures,  too, 
the  figures  are  only  half-length. 

Behind  a balustrade,  the  very  top  of  which  is  the  base 
of  the  picture,  stands  Mary,  turned  in  three-quarters  view 
to  the  left,  supporting  the  baby  Jesus  who  stands  up- 
right on  the  top  of  the  railing.  He  is  a fat,  rather  tightly 
modelled  little  figure,  with  eyes  far  apart,  gazing  out  with 
a babyish,  wondering  look,  while  with  his  right  hand  he 
makes  the  sign  of  the  blessing.  Mary,  dressed  in  blue, 
with  a yellow  over-robe  and  white  head-dress,  is  drawn 
with  a dignity  but  coldness  of  line  that  gives  her  a sort  of 
impersonality,  as  if  she  were  an  uninterested  spectator. 
Her  heavy  eyebrows,  drooping  lids,  pronounced  nose 
and  small  mouth,  make  her  face  very  unlike  the  Umbrian, 
Florentine  or  Siennese  type  of  Madonna.  Behind  the 
mother  and  child,  at  the  left,  is  Sebastian,  his  hands 
joined,  his  eyes  wistful.  At  the  right  is  St.  Peter,  his 
rugged,  bushy-bearded  face  in  strong  contrast  to  the 
soft,  full,  smooth  countenance  of  St.  Sebastian.  Above 
this  group  are  three  cherubs,  two  in  extremely  fore- 
shortened positions. 

The  panel  of  Portraits  of  Two  Men,  called  by  Gentile 
Bellini,  is  now  generally  considered  not  to  be  by  Bellini. 


86 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


It  may  perhaps  be  by  Catena,  or  Bissolo.  They  are  really 
very  fine  heads,  full  of  strong  drawing,  characterization 
and  individuality,  as  modern  in  their  feeling  as  if  done 
by  a painter  of  to-day.  They  are  merely  heads,  being 
cut  off  just  below  their  shoulders.  Half  facing  each 
other,  each  is  thus  in  three-quarters  view.  With  their 
long,  thick  hair,  strongly  marked  features  and  searching 
eyes,  they  are  typical  Italians  of  the  late  fifteenth  century. 

One  of  the  two  pictures  attributed  to  Crivelli  in  the 
Louvre  is  St.  Bernard  of  Siena,  which  is  in  this  room. 
Crivelli  called  himself  a Venetian,  but  he  partakes  of 
little  that  was  characteristic  of  that  school.  His  colour 
was  frequently  unpleasing,  his  figures  angular,  often 
ugly,  generally  ill-drawn.  He  remained  very  archaic 
in  many  ways,  keeping,  for  instance,  always  to  the  raised 
gold  work  in  trimmings  of  gowns,  halos,  and  accessories. 
Yet  he  had  great  form  and  energy,  and  only  Mantegna 
really  eclipsed  him  in  a certain  rude  power.  He  is  sup- 
posed to  have  been  a pupil  of  Squarcione.  LTnlike  his 
contemporary  Venetian  artists  he  always  painted  in 
tempera. 

His  St.  Bernard  was  originally  in  Santa  Annunziata 
at  Ascoli.  It  shows  the  saint  in  the  costume  of  his 
order,  standing  before  a drapery  where  are  suspended 
fruits,  looking  at  two  little  “ donors  ” who  are  kneeling 
before  him. 

Andrea  Mantegna,  who  has  four  pictures  here,  was 
born  in  Padua,  and  studied  with  Squarcione,  which  feeble 
painter  claimed  many  of  his  works  as  his  own.  IMantegna 
was  greatly  influenced  by  Fra  Filippo  Lippi,  whose  works 
in  Padua  he  had  a chance  to  study,  and  also  by  Bellini. 
He  has  been  said  as  well  to  unite  the  qualities  of  both 
Diirer  and  Michelangelo.  His  colour  was  clear  and  trans- 
parent if  rather  dry,  his  modelling  was  sure  and  definite 


(BranDe  (Balede 


87 


with  good  efi'ects  of  light  and  shade.  He  was  a better 
colourist  than  any  contemporary  Venetian.  Kugler  says : 
“ He  combined  an  intensely  realistic  tendency  with  an 
ardent  love  for  the  antique,  adding  to  them  great  powers 
of  invention,  a solemn  poetry  of  feeling,  the  grandest  ex- 
pression of  passion  and  a mastery  of  hand  which  is 
almost  unique.  Whoever  has  learned  to  relish  this  great 
master  will  never  overlook  a scrap  by  him ; for  while 
his  works  sometimes  show  a certain  austerity  and  harsh- 
ness bordering  on  grimace,  they  have  always  a force 
and  an  energy  of  will  which  belong  to  no  one  else.” 

The  Crucifixion  here  was  only  a predella  of  an  altar- 
piece  painted  for  St.  Zeno  at  Verona.  The  whole  work 
was  taken  to  Paris  by  Napoleon  and  returned  minus  this 
predella,  now  one  of  the  most  prized  gems  of  the  Louvre. 
For  nobility  of  feeling  and  dignity  of  treatment  it  would 
be  hard  to  surpass  it.  The  foreground  of  the  picture  is 
a paving  made  of  big  square  stones  into  which  the  three 
crosses  have  been  driven.  Upon  the  central  one,  placed 
with  its  arms  squarely  across,  is  Christ.  On  each  side 
is  another,  so  turned  that  its  arms  make  a right  angle 
with  the  central  one.  There  is  nothing  directly  in  front 
of  or  very  near  to  Christ,  the  other  personages  of  the 
scene  being  grouped  about  the  robbers.  At  the  right 
two  mounted  soldiers  taunt  the  robber,  or  watch  the 
Romans  belowq  who  are  playing  dice  over  the  division 
of  the  clothes  of  Jesus.  At  the  left  Mary  has  fallen  into 
the  arms  of  two  women,  while  others  guard  her  behind. 
St.  John  stands  at  the  foot  of  the  second  robber’s  cross 
gazing  at  his  master,  his  hands  clasped  in  agony.  In 
the  distance  on  a high  hill  is  Jerusalem,  and  on  the  road 
thither,  leaving  Calvary,  a procession  of  people  mounted 
and  on  foot.  Above,  a blue  sky  streaked  with  clouds.  So 
much  for  the  general  placing.  Horrible  as  is  the  subject. 


88 


“Cbe  Brt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


Mantegna  has  treated  it  with  a restrained  passion  that 
alone  bespeaks  the  great  artist.  Nothing  is  overdone,  — 
the  extreme  agony  of  the  time,  the  despair  and  grief 
of  Mary  and  John  never  transcend  the  limits  of  pictorial 
art.  Though  the  climax  of  grief  is  here  depicted,  all 
immoderation  is  avoided.  It  is  this  very  restraint  that 
makes  the  scene  even  more  poignant.  The  figure  of  the 
Crucified  One  is  a marvel  of  anatomical  correctness  The 
way  he  hangs  upon  the  driven  nails  is  only  one  of  the 
master-strokes.  Mary  has  perhaps  never  been  better 
expressed  as  the  Mater  Dolorosa.  The  utter  slump  of  her 
body,  the  helpless  drop  of  her  arms  and  hands,  the  sense 
of  weight  upon  her  supporters,  this  is  all  a technical 
marvel  only  equalled  by  the  agonized  face  that  has  half 
lost  consciousness  under  its  woe.  Very  beautiful  is  the 
figure  of  John,  young,  graceful,  as  befits  the  “ best 
beloved  ” of  the  master.  Equally  splendid  in  drawing, 
modelling  and  pose  are  the  Romans  on  the  right.  Their 
indifference  and  carelessness,  while  interrupting  the  other- 
wise unbroken  anguish  of  the  scene,  add,  by  their  very 
callousness,  to  the  tremendous  effect  of  the  whole. 

Far  removed  from  this  is  the  spirit  of  the  Parnassus. 
Mantegna  is  one  of  the  few  painters  who  could  adapt 
his  style  absolutely  to  the  subject  in  hand.  Neither  his 
types  nor  his  manner  of  treatment  suggest  cast-iron 
rules.  The  Parnassus  is  the  very  essence  of  Greek  myth- 
ology. The  joyousness,  the  freedom,  the  beauty,  the  in- 
consequence, so  typical  of  the  lives  of  the  gods  as  told 
in  myth,  are  as  clearly  shown  as  are  the  rhythm  of  curving 
line,  the  grace  of  dancing  form,  the  perfection  of  classic 
figure.  Mantegna’s  love  of  the  antique,  and  his  keen 
knowledge  of  the  human  figure,  are  here  both  blazoned. 
But  perhaps  it  is  its  spontaneity,  its  gay  abandonment, 
that  makes  the  longest  impression.  Were  ever  the  nine 


Grange  Galede 


89 


Muses  so  exquisitely  depicted  ? Has  he  not  here  ensnared 
the  very  spirit  of  Dance?  It  is  not  only  the  individual 
grace  and  rhythm  and  motion  of  each  one  of  the  flying 
figures  that  so  enthrall.  It  is  the  composite  picture  of 
the  whole  nine  that  leaves  in  the  mind  a vision  of  flying, 
diaphanous  drapery,  of  dancing  feet,  of  arms  and  legs 
that  seem  music  incarnated.  Light  as  thistle-down,  soft 
as  summer  clouds,  full  of  a lilt  that  is  the  quintessence 
of  melody,  this  line  of  dancing  Muses  is  Greece,  and 
Greek  art,  epitomized. 

The  rest  of  the  picture  is  scarcely  less  remarkable. 
Above  these  Muses,  on  a high,  wooded  and  rocky  arch, 
through  which  the  distant  landscape  is  seen,  stand  Venus 
and  Mars.  Behind  them  is  a couch  with  a group  of  trees 
as  background.  Mars  is  a royal  figure  in  full  armour, 
Venus  is  nude.  No  one  up  to  this  time  in  Italian  art  had 
ever  half  so  perfectly  expressed  the  nude.  She  stands 
there  in  a typically  classic  position,  not  far  removed  from 
the  pose  of  the  Venus  of  Milo,  her  weight  so  resting  upon 
her  left  leg  that  her  left  hip  makes  the  outward  curve 
of  the  graceful  line  from  shoulder  to  ankle.  Other 
Italians  were  to  paint  this  goddess  of  love,  perhaps,  more 
sensuously,  more  humanly,  but  it  is  doubtful  if  any  ever 
kept  so  strongly  the  feeling  of  the  Greek  ideal.  Through 
her  left  arm  Mars  has  drawn  his  right  and  the  two  lovers 
are  saying  farewell.  Just  below  the  arched  rock  at  the 
foot  of  a mountain  Vulcan  is  seen  in  an  overpowering 
rage,  while  a small  Cupid  blows  a shooting-tube  at  him 
in  derision.  At  the  left  in  the  foreground  Apollo  plays 
a lyre  to  which  the  Muses  dance.  And  at  the  extreme 
right  Mercury  holds  Pegasus,  whose  wings  are  spread 
ready  for  flight.  Mercury  is  another  rarely  beautiful 
figure,  and  Pegasus  is  the  realization  of  a poet’s  dream. 

Another  important  Mantegna  is  his  Madonna  of 


90 


Ubc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


Victory.  This  he  painted  for  Giovanni  Francesco  Gon- 
zaga,  Marquis  of  Mantua,  as  a commemoration  of  his 
victory  over  Charles  VIII.  of  France.  The  Madonna  is 
seated  on  a throne  made  of  trellis  work  covered  with 
vines,  fruits  and  flowers.  The  baby  Jesus  stands  upright 
upon  her  lap  blessing  the  donor  who  kneels  in  armour 
at  the  left.  Opposite  him  is  St.  Elizabeth  whose  right 
elbow  rests  on  the  base  of  the  throne  and  beside  the  feet 
of  a little  nude  John  who  stands  there  gazing  upward, 
his  right  hand  raised  in  greeting.  On  each  side  of  the 
Virgin  are  two  other  saints : St.  Michael  on  the  left,  a 
very  unusually  beautiful  figure  with  an  ideal  face  of 
purity  and  strength,  with  St.  Andrew  behind  him.  On 
the  other  side  are  St.  George  or  St.  Maurice,  and  St. 
Longinus.  St.  George  and  St.  Michael  hold  out  on  each 
side  the  Virgin’s  mantle,  so  that  Gonzaga,  as  well  as 
Elizabeth  and  John,  are  within  its  shelter.  Gonzaga,  by 
the  way,  is  evidently  true  to  life.  Mantegna  would  never 
have  ventured  to  paint  such  a treacherous  face  if  it  had 
not  existed  in  the  model.  The  overloading  here  of  fruit 
and  flower  does  not  spoil  this  rarely  splendid  picture. 
There  are  dignity,  nobility  and  grace  in  the  Madonna, 
and  the  saints  are  very  fine  specimens  of  early  Italian 
art. 

It  was  in  1474  that  Antonello  da  Messina  painted  his 
famous  Portrait  of  a Man,  now  in  this  room  of  the 
Louvre.  Antonello  was  a southern  Italian  who  preferred 
North  Italy  to  live  in,  and  though  called  a Neapolitan, 
his  work  belongs  distinctly  to  the  school  of  which  Bellini, 
Giorgione  and  Titian  are  the  great  names.  His  work  at 
first  was  angular,  feeble  and  ill-dravTi,  and  it  was  not 
till  he  went  to  Venice,  somewhere  about  1470,  that  his 
style  showed  the  wonderful  advance  that  soon  made  him 
a master  of  greater  power  than  Giovanni  Bellini.  That 


MADONNA  OF  VICTORY 

By  Mantegna 


(Bran&e  (Balede 


91 

this  is  not  overstated  the  mere  dates  of  some  of  the  works 
of  the  two  painters  will  prove.  Compare  any  picture  of 
Bellini’s  of  the  date  of  Antonello’s  Portrait  here,  with  this 
latter,  and  see  how  far  below  it  falls.  It  was  not  till 
1487  that  the  great  Venetian  revealed  his  slow-growing 
but  more  wonderful  genius  in  the  Madonnas  that  are 
world-famed.  It  was  as  a portrait-painter  that  Antonello 
was  at  his  best,  and  it  was  in  that  line  that  his  contem- 
poraries acknowledged  his  supremacy.  He  was  the  one 
from  whom  Giovanni  Bellini  learned  the  use  of  oil  paints, 
and  thus  Antonello  may  be  said  to  have  introduced  it 
into  Italy.  Vasari’s  statement  that  he  acquired  his 
knowledge  of  tlje  new  medium  on  a visit  to  Flanders  is 
probably  untrue.  Pictures  by  Van  Eyck  were  imported 
into  Italy  and  Antonello  may  easily  have  seen  them  in 
Naples. 

The  Portrait-bust  here  is  considered  not  only  one  of 
the  finest  works  of  the  painter,  but  one  of  the  finest  por- 
traits in  existence.  Bellini  himself,  nor  Titian,  scarcely 
ever  surpassed  it  in  reality,  in  intensity  of  expression, 
in  its  plastic  feeling,  its  subtle  modelling,  its  splendid 
flesh-tones.  It  represents  a man  in  early  middle-age, 
clean  shaven,  with  a thick  wig  of  hair  cropped  straight 
across  the  forehead  and  bunching  over  the  ears  to  the  base 
of  the  neck.  Over  this  is  a high,  round,  black  cap.  His 
loose  coat  is  black  also  and  fits  into  a straight  standing 
collar  close  about  his  neck,  at  the  edge  of  which  a bit  of 
white  shows.  His  head  is  turned  three-quarters  to  the 
left,  while  his  eyes  look  to  the  right  so  that  he  gazes 
straight  at  the  spectator.  These  eyes  are  remarkable. 
There  is  a translucence,  a limpidity  about  the  pupil,  a 
marvellous  feeling  of  flesh  about  the  eyelids  that  accen- 
tuate what  seems  to  be  actual  vision.  It  seems  hardly 
credible  that  those  sternly  regarding  eyes  do  not  see  as 


92 


Xlbe  Hrt  ot  tbe  Xouvre 


clearly  as  those  of  a living  man.  Not  less  remarkable  is 
the  rest  of  the  countenance.  To  speak  of  the  smooth, 
astute  modelling,  that  never  suggests  brush-work ; of  the 
flesh  with  the  undertones  made,  it  seems,  of  actual  blood- 
corpuscles  ; of  those  full,  pressed  lips  as  pulsingly  soft 
as  life  itself ; of  that  flnely  drawn,  rather  sharp  nose ; of 
that  square,  aggressive  chin  and  high  cheek-bones,  — to 
speak  of  any  or  all  of  these  is  only  to  emphasize  the  vary- 
ing elements  in  the  picture  as  a whole.  It  is  the  living 
presentation  of  a very  much  alive  Italian  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  more  valuable  as  a historical  document  of  life 
than  reams  of  historical  research. 

Cima  da  Conegliano  has  but  one  picture  in  the  Louvre, 
but  that,  says  M.  Alexandre,  is  a magnificent  one.  It 
represents  the  Virgin  and  Child  seated  upon  a throne- 
chair  in  front  of  a tall  baldaquin  on  a balcony  with  a 
charming  landscape  for  background,  and  St.  John  and 
Mary  Magdalene  for  attendants.  Mary  is  one  of  Cima’s 
most  charming  Madonnas,  her  round  face,  of  rather  a 
peasant  type,  full  of  a sweet  maternal  expression,  her 
attitude,  as  she  leans  over  the  baby,  one  of  grace  and 
tender  solicitude.  Jesus  has  a very  natural,  childlike 
pose,  resting  on  his  right  arm  and  turning  to  look  at 
John,  who  is  depicted  as  a youth  many  years  older.  The 
Magdalene  half-kneels  at  the  right,  and  receives  very 
little  attention  from  either  mother  or  babe.  The  land- 
scape, with  its  wooded  cliflf  at  the  right,  and  its  low-lying 
valley  stretching  to  farther  hills,  is  a scene  from  the 
Friuli  country,  often  chosen  by  Venetian  painters  of  this 
era. 

Cima  has  a certain  cleanness,  polish,  and  brilliance  that 
reminds  one,  as  critics  have  not  failed  to  notice,  of  Credi, 
though  the  former  has  more  richness  of  colour,  as  is 
to  be  expected  of  a Venetian,  while  Lorenzo  di  Credi  has 


PORTRAIT  OF  A MAN 
By  Messina 


<5ran&e  Galerfe 


93 


perhaps  more  nobility  of  line.  Cimla  was  a pupil  of 
Alvise  Vivarini,  and  we  know  little  more  about  him. 

If  not  much  is  known  of  Cima,  still  less,  from  one  point 
of  view,  can  be  definitely  stated  about  Giorgione,  the 
supposed  author  of  the  Holy  Family  in  this  bay  of  the 
Grande  Galerie.  Around  no  painter’s  name,  probably, 
has  a fiercer  fight  raged  than  about  this  “ Great  George,” 
of  Castelfranco, — the  golden  youth  who,  according  to  Va- 
sari, and  to  many  later  critics,  influenced  all  Venetian  art, 
influenced  Titian  himself  to  such  a degree  that  from  his 
day  on  only  those  paintings  that  were  “ Giorgionesque  ” 
received  full  praise  and  appreciation.  He  and  Titian 
were  both  pupils  of  Giovanni  Bellini,  and  so  compelling,  it 
is  related,  was  the  young  Giorgione’s  personality  and 
talent  that  old  Giambellini  himself  made  a desperate 
attempt  to  remodel  his  own  style  after  that  of  his  pupil. 
Titian  in  his  turn  was  equally  impressed  with  his  fellow 
pupil’s  genius,  and,  after  leaving  Bellini’s  bottega,  took 
lessons  of  Giorgione.  And  Giorgione’s  fame  spread  all 
over  Italy  and  pictures  by  him  were  in  demand  in  every 
wealthy  household.  Such  is  the  tradition,  — if  it  be  no 
more  than  that.  Since  those  days  works  by  him  were 
supposed  to  be  in  every  museum,  every  private  collection 
in  Europe.  But  finally  came  destructive  as  well  as  re- 
constructive criticism.  One  by  one  the  pictures  ascribed 
to  the  young  Venetian  have  been  torn  away  from  him, 
till  now  not  half  a dozen  are  indisputably  his.  So  little, 
indeed,  is  left  him  that  there  seems  some  justice  in  the 
questions  that  naturally  arise.  From  whence  come  the 
universal  praise  and  admiration  given  his  name?  Why 
is  his  influence  over  Titian  and  the  rest  of  the  Venetians 
so  positively  stated?  How  can  one  tell,  in  the  dearth  of 
works  positively  his,  what  his  style  really  was,  or  to 
what  degree  of  excellence  he  had  attained  when,  at 


94 


Ube  Uxt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


only  thirty-two,  he  died?  Is  it  wholly  upon  the  record 
that  Vasari  left  — Vasari,  the  notoriously  inaccurate? 
Why  is  Titian  supposed  to  be  indebted  to  Giorgione  in- 
stead of  Giorgione  to  Titian? 

If  there  seems  to  be  no  very  definite  answer  to  all  these 
questions,  or  one  that  to-morrow  may  not  be  overturned, 
perhaps  the  most  common-sense  explanation  of  the  uni- 
versally conceded  debt  of  Titian  to  him  lies  in  the  dates 
of  the  two  men’s  lives.  Giorgione  died  before  a single 
painting  can  be  positively  assigned  to  Titian.  For  the 
earliest  dated  work  by  the  latter  are  the  frescoes  of  St. 
Antonio,  done  in  1511.  And  Giorgione  died  in  1510. 
Therefore,  all  the  works  attributed  to  Giorgione  were 
executed  before  that  date.  Since,  then,  there  is  unques- 
tionably much  in  Titian  that  resembles  the  style,  the 
colour,  the  design  of  these  works,  it  is  credible  that  it 
was  Giorgione  who  influenced  him,  rather  than  he 
Giorgione.  The  contemporary  estimation  in  which  he 
was  held,  Vasari  unquestionably  voices.  Now,  at  the 
end  of  all  the  debates  between  critics,  after  all  these 
centuries,  Giorgione  is  probably  best  or  most  generally 
known  by  his  Madonna  at  Castelfranco  and  by  the 
Concert,  whether  or  not  by  him,  at  the  Pitti.  A glowing 
colour  for  which  the  word  divine  seems  not  inappropriate, 
a consummate  mastery  of  line,  a musical  sense  unlike  any 
other  painter,  a joyous  exuberance  joined  to  exquisite 
tenderness  as  shown  in  landscape  of  fields  and  trees  and 
water,  and  a refinement  of  the  sensuous  unknown  to 
Titian,  these  inadequately  perhaps  characterize  one’s 
impression  of  a work  by  Giorgione. 

Of  the  Holy  Family  in  this  bay  which  is  ascribed  to 
him,  a pretty  general  opinion  exists  that  it  is  not  his, 
though  some  critics  think  it  may  be  a late  work  which 
Sebastiano  del  Piombo  finished  after  Giorgione’s  death. 


Grange  Galeric 


95 


This  picture,  Mr.  Herbert  Cook  says,  “ is  marked  by  a 
lurid  splendour  of  colour  and  a pertain  rough  grandeur 
of  expression  well  calculated  to  jar  with  any  preconceived 
notion  of  Giorgionesque  sobriety  and  reserve.  Yet  here, 
if  anywhere,  we  get  that  fuoco  Giorgionesco  of  which 
Vasari  speaks,  that  intensity  of  feeling,  rendered  with  a 
vivacity  and  power  to  which  the  artist  could  only  have 
attained  in  his  latest  days.” 

The  Virgin  is  seated  at  the  left,  a slightly  over  half- 
length  figure,  with  Joseph’s  head  and  shoulders  seen 
behind  her  still  more  at  the  left.  She  is  in  three-quarters 
position,  dressed  in  a red  gown,  a blue  mantle  lined  with 
green  and  a white  drapery  over  her  head  and  shoulders. 
On  her  knee  is  the  baby  Christ  whom  she  draws  toward 
her  by  the  fold  of  muslin  about  his  waist,  the  ends  of 
which  she  holds  in  her  left  hand.  Before  them',  only  head 
and  shoulders  appearing,  is  the  donor,  a black-bearded 
man  in  profile.  Beside  him,  at  the  right,  is  St.  Sebastian, 
arrow  pierced  and  tied  to  the  tree  behind  him.  Between 
this  saint  and  Mary  is  St.  Catherine  looking  with  adora- 
tion at  the  Madonna  and  Child.  A red  curtain  back  of 
Mary  and  Joseph  cuts  off  the  scene  that  shows  at  the 
right  beyond  the  other  figures.  Mary  is  a rather  full- 
faced,  exquisitely-browed  woman,  whose  mouth  falls  into 
Cupid  curves,  and  whose  whole  blooming  beauty  is  one 
of  richness  and  splendour.  Sebastian’s  nude  torso  and 
beautiful  face  are  equally  glorious  in  colour  and  model- 
ling. 

Carpaccio,  best  and  most  famously  known  for  his 
series  of  scenes  illustrating  St.  Ursula’s  life,  is  represented 
at  the  Louvre  by  the  one  picture,  St.  Etienne  Preaching 
at  Jerusalem).  The  painter  was  born  in  or  near  Venice, 
and  his  last  dated  work  is  about  the  time  of  Raphael’s 
death,  when,  presumably,  he  was  far  older  than  the 


96 


Ube  Hct  ot  tbe  Xouvre 


young  Urbinate.  He  is  thought  to  have  been  a pupil  of 
both  Giovanni  Bellini  and  Alvise  Vivarini,  and  his  work 
shows  their  influence.  He  is  the  truest,  and  at  the  same 
time  the  most  poetic  historian  of  Venice  of  the  latter  end 
of  the  fifteenth  and  early  sixteenth  century.  In  his  can- 
vases live  again  the  streets,  the  architecture,  the  daily  life 
of  the  Venice  of  his  day.  His  colouring  is  the  glowing 
translucent  tone  that  only  Venetian  painters  knew,  his 
compositions  are  dignified,  interesting,  and  his  personages 
are  depicted  with  a delicate  observation  and  sympathetic 
rendering  that  makes  a figure  by  Carpaccio  as  distinctive 
and  unmistakable  as  an  angel  by  Fra  Angelico. 

Not  of  Venice,  however,  is  the  Louvre  picture.  Stand- 
ing at  the  left  of  a public  square,  on  a pedestal  carved  with 
a medallion  of  the  Roman  emperor,  is  the  saint  preach- 
ing to  an  assembly  dressed  in  Eastern  costumes.  At  the 
right,  in  the  centre  of  a group  of  men,  a number  of 
women  are  seated,  all  gazing  at  the  saint  with  absorbed, 
following  faces.  Back  of  them  are  the  buildings  that 
make  the  town,  minarets  rising  often  against  the  moun- 
tainous background.  The  colour  is  glorious,  full  of  rich, 
deep  tones.  It  was  executed  for  the  Scuola  of  St.  Stefano 
at  Venice,  and  was  one  of  a series  of  five  pictures  illus- 
trating incidents  of  the  saint’s  life. 

Titian  is  represented  at  the  Louvre  with  a long  list 
of  pictures,  several  of  which  are  Titian  at  his  best,  and 
m)any  others  are  very  beautiful  works.  Unlike  most  of 
the  men  of  the  Renaissance,  he  seems  not  to  have  been 
a prodigy  in  his  early  youth.  But  if  his  genius  was  slow 
in  developing,  it  was  even  slower  in  showing  any  signs  of 
decay.  In  full  perfection  it  bloomed,  presenting  the 
spectacle  of  a man  past  eighty  still  producing  immortal 
works.  He  died  of  the  plague  when  he  was  ninety-nine 
years  old,  and  up  to  a short  time  before,  his  brush  had 


(3ran&e  (Balede 


97 


been  as  busy  as  if  the  hand  that  held  it  knew,  but  half  the 
century  it  had  helped  to  mould.  The  greatest  colourist  of 
the  world  is  the  title  probably  oftenest  given  to  him. 
It  is  both  more  and  less  than  his  due.  He  was  the 
greatest  Venetian,  and  the  school  of  Venice  stands  pre- 
eminent for  its  colour.  But  Veronese,  Giorgione,  even 
Correggio  at  times  surpassed  him  in  brilliancy,  depth 
or  golden  glow.  None  of  these,  however,  or  any  other, 
ever  attained  to  such  universal  splendour  of  colour  and 
tone.  His  extraordinarily  high  standard,  a standard  that 
years  did  not  lower,  has  never  been  equalled.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  emphasis  that  has  always  been  laid  upon 
his  colour  seems  to  hint  a limitation  of  his  powers  as 
draughtsman,  composer  and  master  of  movement.  And 
it  is  true  that  at  times  his  compositions,  minus  their 
colour-scheme,  would  seem  huddled,  and  the  action 
inadequate  or  strained ; that  occasionally  in  his  portraits 
there  is  a lack  of  feeling  for  the  bony  construction  of 
the  cranium,  and  that  the  hands  are  sometimes  too  pulpy. 
But  this  is  Titian  at  his  worst.  At  his  best  he  is  as 
great  a draughtsman,  as  perfect  a master  of  composition, 
and  has  as  exquisite  feeling  for  rhythm  and  movement 
as  any  painter  that  ever  lived.  If  he  lacked  certain 
of  the  peculiar,  personal  attributes  of  such  men  as 
Raphael,  Leonardo,  Michelangelo,  Correggio  or  Velas- 
quez or  Rembrandt,  he  excelled  each  one  in  other  respects, 
and  perhaps  equalled  them  all  en  masse.  “ Serene  gran- 
deur ” seerns  indeed  to  be  the  distinguishing  character- 
istic of  all  his  work.  It  is  as  untroubled  as  it  is  brilliant, 
as  graceful  as  powerful,  as  poetic  as  simple,  as  full  of 
clarity  as  it  is  of  richness,  as  sane  as  it  is  original. 

During  his  life  Titian  was  the  friend  of  emperor,  kings, 
princes,  poets  and  nobles,  and  his  work  was  almost 
entirely  done  for  these  mighty  patrons.  He  was  invited 


98 


tXbe  Hrt  ot  tbe  3Louv>re 


to  go  to  Rome,  as  a young  man,  to  work  for  the  Popes, 
but  he  preferred  to  stay  in  his  city  of  Venice,  and  only 
made  trips  from  that  city  in  the  service  of  noted  prince, 
king  or  emperor. 

The  most  important  of  his  paintings  in  the  Louvre 
are  in  the  Salon  Carre,  but  there  are  many  extremely 
interesting  ones  in  this  bay  of  the  Grande  Galerie. 
Among  them  is  the  Jupiter  and  Antiope.  This  is  one  of 
the  mythologic  scenes  which  Titian,  in  common  with 
all  the  Venetians,  loved  to  paint,  principally,  undoubtedly, 
because  of  the  opportunity  it  gave  to  portray  the  nude. 
The  Venetians,  indeed,  painted  the  nude  as  no  others 
in  Italy  ever  thought  of  doing.  It  was  not  so  much  for 
the  sake  of  line  and  contour,  like  the  Florentines,  nor 
yet  to  display  wonderful  movement  and  action,  like 
Michelangelo.  It  was  to  show  the  pulsing  beauty  of 
flesh,  with  the  warm  sun  lighting  the  rounded  planes,  or 
soft  shadows  caressing  the  curves.  It  was  because  the 
human  figure  was  best  adapted  to  displaying  the  beauty 
of  paint.  In  other  words,  they  treated  the  nude  body  as 
painters,  pure  and  simple,  revelling  in  its  gleaming  flesh, 
its  soft  forms,  its  firm  structure,  as  no  other  school  has 
ever  done.  Even  the  modern  French  school  has  never 
approached  it  with  the  singleness  of  purpose  that  char- 
acterized the  Venetian  at  its  height.  Beauty  of  tone,  of 
colour,  of  light  and  perforce  of  contour,  and  all  seen 
and  expressed  as  only  a painter  could  see  and  express, 
that  was  their  aim,  their  entire  object. 

In  this  Jupiter  and  Antiope  the  landscape  proves  how 
peculiarly  sensitive  Titian  was  to  its  pictorial  possibili- 
ties. He  and  Giorgione  are  the  first  to  show  this  feeling 
for  outdoors.  Not  till  Claude  Lorrain  do  we  again  see 
such  play  of  atmosphere,  such  enveloping  air,  such  golden 
shimmering  light.  At  the  foot  of  a tree,  Antiope,  half- 


(Bran&e  (Balerie 


99 


sitting,  half-lying,  is  stretched  out,  the  upper  part  of  her 
body  nude.  One  arm  is  over  her  head,  and  she  seems 
sleeping,  a dreamlike  smile  curving  her  lips.  Jupiter, 
in  the  guise  of  a satyr,  is  at  her  feet.  He  has  lifted  up  a 
piece  of  her  drapery,  and,  crouching  on  elbow,  his  eyes 
are  devouring  the  beautiful  sight.  Over  Antiope’s  head, 
perched  on  the  tree,  a small  Cupid  is  aiming  his  bow  and 
arrow  at  the  king  of  the  gods.  At  the  left  of  the  tree 
a young  woman  with  low-cut  bodice  and  bare  arms  sits 
listening  to  another  satyr,  who,  back  to,  leans  on  his  right 
hand.  Beside  them  stand  a hunter  with  two  dogs  in 
leash,  and  another,  only  partly  in  the  picture,  blowing  a 
horn.  A wood  behind  this  group  opens  out  at  the  left 
into  a charming  landscape  of  meadow,  lake  and  moun- 
tain. In  the  middle  distance  a hunt  is  in  progress  and 
the  dogs  in  chase.  The  landscape  is  full  of  a golden  light 
that  surrounds  the  figures,  softening  their  outlines,  mak- 
ing the  whole  thing  a veritable  idyl.  It  is  injured  by 
fire,  by  much  travelling  and  by  restoration,  but  it  is  still 
Titian  in  the  plenitude  of  his  powers.  Antiope  is,  as 
one  noted  critic  has  said,  “ modelled  with  a purity  of 
colour  and  softness  of  rounding  hardly  surpassed  in  the 
Parian  marbles  of  the  ancients.”  In  1829  it  was  trans- 
ferred to  a new  canvas. 

Exhibiting  Titian  in  a far  different  manner  is  the 
Disciples  at  Emmaus.  In  a stately  pillared  room  opening 
on  to  a balcony,  Jesus  sits  at  table  with  Qeophas  and 
Luke.  The  rich  damask  of  the  cloth,  the  servant  and  the 
page,  as  well  as  the  splendid  hall,  are  not  such  as  one 
associates  in  thought  with  the  life  of  the  Carpenter  of 
Nazareth.  It  would  have  been  contrary  to  the  Venetian 
principles  in  painting,  however,  to  make  these  surround- 
ings of  the  Master  mean  or  sordid,  and  in  spite  of  the 
incongruousness  that  must  be  felt,  Titian  succeeded  in 


lOO 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


giving  the  scene  an  intimate,  almost  homely  character. 
Jesus  sits  facing  the  spectator,  his  left  hand  on  the  bread, 
his  right  lifted  in  blessing.  Qeophas  is  at  the  end  of  the 
table  on  the  right,  his  head  reverently  bent,  his  hands 
joined  in  prayer.  At  Jesus’  right  sits  Luke  in  profile,  his 
hands  outspread,  his  body  thrown  back,  his  whole  ex- 
pression one  of  rapt  wonder  and  amaze.  Quite  indif- 
ferent to  the  meaning  of  the  scene  are  the  servants, 
standing  with  sleeves  turned  up  and  looking  as  if  wait- 
ing for  orders  from  Luke,  and  the  page  who  is  behind 
Luke’s  chair. 

This  picture  was  painted  probably  about  1547  when 
Charles  V.  had  called  him  to  Augsburg.  It  was  at 
Mantua  and  with  the  rest  of  the  Gonzaga  collection 
passed  into  the  hands  of  Charles  L,  and  then,  along  with 
others  of  the  Whitehall  gems  came  to  the  gallery  of 
Louis  XIV.  It  is  therefore  an  example  of  his  work 
when  he  was  about  seventy  years  old.  The  sureness 
of  the  touch,  the  masterly  chiaroscuro,  the  ease  in  com- 
position, the  skill  in  treatment  of  damask,  silk  and 
stuffs  never  hint  that  the  hand  which  held  the  brush 
was  already  older  than  most  painters’  when  they  drop 
it  for  ever.  The  figures  are  under  life-size.  The  colours 
are  bright,  Christ  in  the  conventional  red  and  blue, 
Qeophas  in  tan  and  red,  Luke  wearing  a green  coat  and 
a blue  and  white  checked  scarf.  It  is  said  that  Charles 
I.  was  model  for  Luke  and  Cardinal  Ximenes  for 
Qeophas,  and  that  the  page  is  Philip  11.  The  force  and 
brilliance  of  the  composition  are  more  marked  than  its 
spirituality.  It  is  a very  different  conception  from  Rem- 
brandt’s picture  of  the  same  scene,  also  in  the  Louvre. 

In  the  Virgin  and  Child  and  Several  Saints,  the  Virgin 
sits  at  the  left,  facing  the  right  her  head  almost  in 
profile.  She  holds  on  her  lap  the  infant  Jesus,  who  is 


GranDe  Galede 


lOI 


lying  on  his  back,  his  feet  kicked  up,  his  right  hand 
grasping  her  veil.  At  the  right  stand  St.  Etienne 
dressed  in  blue  who  offers  the  Madonna  a palm,  St. 
Ainbroise  in  red,  reading  from  a large  book,  and  St. 
Maurice  in  armour  and  leaning  on  his  lance.  Behind 
is  a landscape  with  deeply  clouded  sky.  The  Virgin 
has  a red  dress,  a blue  mantle  lined  with  yellow  and  a 
yellow  veil.  A replica  of  the  picture  is  in  Vienna. 

Of  the  other  works  of  Titian  in  this  section,  the  Por- 
trait of  Frangois  I.  was  perhaps  painted  from  a medallion. 
It  is  a profile  view. 

The  one  called  simply  an  Allegory,  is  supposed  to  rep- 
resent Davolos  the  warrior  who  is  at  the  right,  his 
hand  on  the  breast  of  his  wife,  Mary  of  Arragon.  She 
is  sitting  at  the  left  holding  a crystal  globe  in  her  hands. 
At  the  right,  opposite  her  is  Cupid,  and  farther  back 
Hymen  and  Victory,  two  young  maidens  crowned  with 
flower  and  myrtle.  These  three  are  trying  to  console  her 
for  the  departure  of  her  husband.  It  is  painted  with 
free,  full  touch  and  with  rich  colour,  and  is  a thoroughly 
typical  work  of  the  great  Venetian.  The  flesh-tones  are 
pure,  rich  and  delicate.  The  woman’s  face  is  as  beauti- 
ful as  it  is  calm  and  full  of  a soft  harmoniousness.  The 
warrior  is  splendid  and  imposing,  clad  in  striking  armour. 

An  Adoration  of  the  Shepherds  in  this  division  is  by 
Palma  Vecchio,  who  is  called  a pupil  of  Giovanni  Bellini 
and  also  a Venetian.  He  was  really,  however,  born  near 
Bergamo,  and  Morelli  claims  that  his  Bergamese  traits 
are  apparent  in  all  his  paintings.  He  has  a richness  of 
colour,  an  amplitude  of  forms,  a suppleness  of  composi- 
tion, a large,  loose  management  of  drapery  that,  were  it 
not  for  the  greater  magic  of  the  names  of  Titian  and 
Giorgione  would  place  him  at  the  height  of  Venetian 
masters.  His  characteristic  type  of  woman  was  auburn- 


102 


XTbe  art  of  tbe  Xouvre 


haired  and  brown-eyed,  of  almost  Junoesque  splendour 
of  charms,  but  interfused  as  it  were  with  an  alluring 
softness  that  made  the  beauty  less  statuesque  and  more 
appealing. 

All  his  happiest  attributes  are  shown  in  the  Adoration. 
It  is  glowingly  splendid  in  colour,  of  vigorous  handling, 
with  brilliant  lights  that  suggest  Lotto’s  influence.  It 
is  altogether  one  of  Palma’s  most  beautiful  works  and 
has  been  assigned,  though  with  no  good  reason,  to 
Titian.  The  Virgin  is  seated  before  a ruin  overlaid 
with  ornamental  reliefs,  dressed  in  red  and  blue,  in 
three-quarters  position,  her  head  bent  to  the  right.  She 
leans  over,  holding  the  child  in  his  crib  before  a young 
shepherd  who  kneels  adoringly  with  hands  clasped  on 
his  breast.  At  the  right  of  the  Virgin,  between  her  and 
the  shepherd,  sits  Joseph,  in  a chestnut-toned  mantle, 
leaning  on  a stick  and  looking  attentively  at  the  shepherd. 
Back  of  the  Virgpn,  at  the  left,  in  a gray,  fur-bordered 
costume  is  the  donor,  this  time  a woman,  her  hands 
joined.  Over  her  head  in  the  ruin  are  seen  an  ox  and 
ass,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  landscape  more  shepherds 
watching  a group  of  angels  in  the  sky,  and  a cavalier 
conducted  by  a soldier  appearing  round  the  bend  of  the 
road.  The  light  is  so  arranged  that  it  falls  sharply  on 
the  faces  of  the  Virgin,  the  donor,  Joseph  and  Christ’s 
little  body  but  only  slightly  on  the  kneeling  shepherd 
lad.  The  graceful  positions  of  the  figures  are  a trifle  too 
much  planned,  perhaps,  though  Joseph  has  a very  natural 
ease. 

Not  at  the  Louvre  can  Jacopo  Robusti,  he  who  is 
always  called  Tintoretto,  be  known,  though  there  are  one 
or  two  things  well  worthy  of  even  him  on  the  walls. 
Tintoretto,  the  last  of  the  great  masters  of  the  Renais- 
sance was  far  from  being  the  least.  Few  can  agree 


ADORATION  OF  THE  SHEPHERDS 


(5ranC>e  (3alerie 


103 


with  Ruskin  in  ranking  him  superior  to  all  save 
Michelangelo,  yet  at  his  best  it  must  be  acknowledged 
that  only  the  giant  Florentine  rivalled  him  in  force, 
majesty  of  imagination,  in  virility,  in  fertility  of  inven- 
tion. The  mere  name  of  Tintoretto  suggests  a veritable 
passion  of  power,  an  unceasing  surging  demand  for  ex- 
pression, a boundless  vision  that  could  sweep  the  earth, 
or  pierce  the  depths  of  hell  or  soar  into  the  fulness  of 
heaven,  an  illimitable  capacity  for  work  and  a lightning- 
like  facility  of  execution.  Not  less  does  it  connote  mar- 
vellous knowledge  of  human  anatomy,  absolute  command 
over  every  intricate  problem  of  perspective,  construction 
or  chiaroscuro,  joined  to  such  a feeling  for  movement, 
action,  as  no  other  painter  ever  possessed.  Nothing  was 
too  difficult  for  his  obedient  brush.  It  was  a simple 
matter  for  him  to  paint  figures  floating  in  the  ether, 
or  falling  head  first  like  a thunderbolt  from  the  sky,  and 
simple  too,  to  cover  yards  and  yards  of  canvas,  impro- 
vising as  he  painted.  More  than  any  of  the  masters  of 
the  later  Renaissance  he  was  self-taught.  The  story 
may  or  may  not  be  true  that  he  originally  went  to  work 
in  Titian’s  studio  and  that  in  a few  days  the  painter  of 
Cadore  thrust  him  out  from;  fear  of  a rival  in  the  boy 
w;ho  could  already  make  such  extraordinary  sketches. 
It  is  at  least  certain  that  he  was  with  Titian  at  the  most 
a very  short  time  and  from  then  on  worked  quite 
by  himself,  studying  all  the  works  of  Titian  he  could,  and 
making  copies  of  casts  of  Michelangelo’s  great  figures. 
It  was  in  the  beginning  of  his  career  that  he  wrote  on 
the  wall  of  his  room,  “II  disegno  di  Michelangelo,  il 
colorito  di  Tiziano”  And  at  his  best  in  the  Ducal  Palace, 
in  the  Mater  Domini,  at  the  Orto,  and  occasionally  in  the 
San  Rocco,  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  he  has  painted 
with  a brush  as  glowing  as  eyer  Titian  used  and  drawn 


104  Ube  Hrt  ot  tbe  Xouvre 

with  a pencil  as  sure,  as  vigorous  and  as  full  of  virile 
imagination  as  that  of  the  painter  of  the  Sistine  Chapel. 

Of  the  number  of  sadly  inadequate  works  of  Tinto- 
retto in  this  bay,  the  sketch  for  the  Paradise  is  perhaps 
the  most  interesting  for,  principally,  its  associations.  In 
1587  Guariento  of  Padua’s  picture  of  Paradise  in  the 
Grand  Council  Hall  of  the  Ducal  Palace,  was  declared 
unworthy  of  its  associates  and  a new  decoration  was 
wanted  to  fill  its  place.  It  was  to  cover  the  whole  side 
wall  which  was  thirty  feet  in  height  by  seventy-four  in 
length.  Veronese  was  chosen  to  paint  it  with  the  assist- 
ance of  Bassano.  But  Veronese,  dying  before  he  had 
even  finished  his  preparatory  studies,  Tintoretto  begged 
the  senators  to  let  him  have  the  work,  saying,  “ Give  me 
Paradise  now  for  I am  not  sure  of  it  hereafter.”  He 
was  then  either  seventy-one  or  seventy-seven.  The 
sketch  for  it  in  the  Loiivre  shows  the  general  disposition 
and  gives  some  etfect  of  the  wonderful  aerial  perspective 
which  so  stamps  the  huge  fresco  in  Venice.  The  figures 
of  Christ  and  the  Virgin  are  full  of  dignity  and  nobility 
and  Adam  and  Eve  are  wonderfully  beautiful.  But  as  a 
whole  it  is  lacking  in  unity  and  coherence. 

The  Dead  Christ  with  Two  Angels  is  a little  canvas 
that  has  a pathetic  beaut)^  quite  without  exaggeration 
or  sentimentality.  Jesus  has  apparently  just  been  lifted 
from  the  tomb  by  the  two  angels,  one  of  whom,  standing 
beside  him,  still  half-holds  him  in  his  arms.  The  other 
is  leaning  on  the  tomb,  a flaming  torch  over  his  shoulder, 
his  right  hand  holding  his  robe  to  his  weeping  eyes. 
These  two  celestial  beings  are  very  lovely  in  their  con- 
ception and  realization.  The  figure  of  Jesus,  helpless, 
inert,  a dead  weight  with  his  dropped  head  and  hanging 
arms  and  bent  legs,  is  brought  into  strong  light,  em- 
phasizing the  gloom  and  mystery  surrounding  him. 


OranDe  ©alerle 


105 

There  are  three  pictures  by  Lotto  in  this  bay  of  which 
the  St.  Jerome  in  the  Desert  is  one  of  his  very  earliest 
works.  The  general  tone  is  rather  warnii,  recalling,  says 
Mr.  Berenson,  Alvise  Vivarini’s  Resurrection  in  San 
Giovanni  in  Bragora  at  Venice.  There  are  too,  he 
acknowledges,  traces  of  Bellini  in  the  thin,  stiff  folds  of 
the  saint’s  draperies  and  in  the  rocks  of  the  foreground. 
But,  as  indeed  even  a superficial  observer  must  note,  the 
feeling  and  movement  of  the  figure  are  such  as  would 
be  characteristic  of  neither  Vivarini  nor  Bellini.  There  is 
an  expression,  a soul-representation  in  it  foreign  to  these 
older  Venetian  painters.  The  scene  takes  place  on  a 
rocky  towering  cliff  that  shows  a glimpse  of  sea  and 
precipitous  shore  beyond  the  trees  and  rocks  that  make 
the  foreground.  At  the  foot  of  one  of  these  huge  rocks 
sits  St.  Jerome  half-nude,  a crucifix  in  one  hand,  a 
couple  of  open  books  beside  him.  He  is  looking  neither  at 
them  nor  at  the  crucifix.  His  gaze  is  bent  upon  the 
ground  and  his  white  beard  rests  upon  his  bare  chest. 
Plunged  in  meditation,  the  saint  does  not  see  the  lion 
who  is  coming  from  behind  the  rock  at  the  left,  nor  its 
companion,  St.  Anthony.  Equally  oblivious  is  he  to 
the  horseman  in  the  distance. 

Christ  and  the  Adulteress  was  painted  somewhere  near 
1529,  after  Lotto’s  so-called  Bergamese  period,  a period 
when  his  art  was  joyous,  glorious,  full  of  a colour  as 
seductive  if  somewhat  less  rich  than  Titian’s.  Mr. 
Berenson  calls  this  picture  as  “ full  of  charity  as  the 
Bible  itself.”  It  represents  Christ  standing  surrounded 
by  the  Pharisees,  the  accused  being  directly  at  his  left. 
Mr.  Berenson’s  remarks  are  worth  quoting  because 
probably  no  one  else  has  so  carefully  studied  the  picture. 
“ The  Christ  is  Lotto’s  usual  type  with  the  forked  beard 
and  rather  bushy  hair.  The  Adulteress  recalls  the  St. 


io6 


TLbc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


Lucy  in  the  Carmine  Altar-piece.  The  Pharisees,  al- 
though bearing  a decided  resemblance  to  the  corpulent 
old  men  often  found  in  Bonifazio,  have  here  an  intentional 
coarseness  and  vulgarity.  . . . The  crowd,  stretching  away 
into  the  darkness  is  painted  with  a skill  in  modelling 
within  deep  shadows  that  surpasses  even  the  altar-piece 
in  San  Bartolommeo  at  Bergamo ; . . . here  the  shadow 
itself  is  treated  atmospherically.  The  painting  of  armour 
here,  “ that  has  not  the  sparkle  and  iridescence  which 
Titian  and  Rubens  give  to  metallic  surface  . . . resembles 
that  of  Rembrandt  and  the  Dutch  masters.”  Perhaps  one 
of  the  most  noticeable  things  about  it  is  the  aggressiveness 
shown  by  the  Jews.  They  evince  not  the  slightest 
reverence  or  respect  for  Jesus,  shaking  their  hands  in  his 
face,  jostling  against  him,  suspicious  anger  and  hatred 
showing  in  every  movement  and  expression.  It  is  a 
Lottoesque  appreciation  of  what  must  have  been  actuali- 
ties. 

Soft,  tender  and  lovely  is  the  Holy  Family,  sometimes 
called  the  Recognition  of  the  Holy  Child.  The  baby 
Jesus  lies  completely  nude  on  a white  cloth  spread  over 
the  grass  and  flowers  under  the  shade  of  large  trees.  He 
is  reaching  out  his  hands  to  the  little  St.  John  who  so 
finely  balances  him,  the  latter  in  his  turn  pointing  out 
the  divine  babe  to  the  Virgin.  She  is  half-hdng,  half- 
sitting near  by  and  has  lifted  her  hands  in  amaze  as 
if  she  had  never  before  really  seen  her  child,  while  at 
the  left,  somewhat  out  of  the  picture,  Joseph  is  rising 
from  his  knees  also  to  gaze.  On  the  right  is  Elizabeth, 
bending  eagerly  over  the  baby  and  behind  her  is  Joachim 
lifting  his  hands  wonderingly.  Back  of  St.  John  three 
angels  dressed  in  white  with  “ pearly,  iridescent  wings  ” 
that  cross,  press  forward  to  make  their  reverence  to  the 
child.  The  Madonna,  remarks  Mr.  Berenson,  is  the  same 


HOLY  FAMILY 


(3rant)e  (Valerie 


107 


type  as  the  Cingola  picture  and  as  a whole  the  painting 
in  certain  ways  suggests  Savoldo. 

According  to  Mr.  Berenson  Lotto  for  years  was  paint- 
ing like  an  artist  of  the  fifteenth  century  when  already  the 
sixteenth  was  in  full  flower.  It  is  in  consequence  of  this 
early  manner  of  his  that  his  later  style  seems  so  mar- 
vellous a jump.  And  even  in  his  very  earliest  work  he 
shows  signs  of  what  for  the  day,  was  a most  peculiar 
personality.  It  did  not  reach  triumphant  expression, 
however,  till  he  was  past  fifty  years  old.  This  personality, 
— this  peculiarly  Lottoesque  donation  to  the  art  of  the 
Renaissance,  is  a subjective  way  of  looking  at  life  and 
people.  Whether  he  painted  an  altar-piece  or  a portrait, 
it  was  always  his  own  interpretation  of  the  Scriptures, 
not  a mere  relating  of  some  long  accepted  myth  or  story ; 
it  was  always  the  man  as  he  saw  him ; and  these  mar- 
vellous portraits  are  evidence  that  Lotto  saw  far  below 
the  flesh ; it  seems,  at  times,  as  if  he  pulled  the  secrets 
of  the  soul  too  ruthlessly  from  their  hiding.  His 
was  a plummet  that  reached  straight  and  unswervingly 
to  the  unworded,  almost  unthought  aspirations,  longings 
and  pains  of  the  submerged  soul.  Titian,  continues  Mr. 
Berenson,  might  have  asked  his  sitter,  “ Who  are  you  ? 
What  is  your  station  in  life  ? ” Lotto  would  have  more 
likely  questioned,  “What  sort  of  a person  are  you? 
How  do  you  take  life  ? ” It  is  this  “ that  makes  him  pre- 
eminently a psychologist  and  distinguishes  him  from 
such  even  of  his  contemporaries  as  are  most  like  him; 
from  Durer,  who  is  near  him  in  depth,  and  from  Cor- 
reggio who  comes  close  to  him  in  sensitiveness.” 

Next  to  Venice  there  is  no  better  place  than  the  Louvre 
to  see  Veronese,  — Veronese,  who  was  as  little  a psy- 
chologist as  Lotto  was  a painter  of  pageants.  Although 
always  classed  among  the  Venetians,  he  was  neither 


io8 


Zbc  Ert  of  tbe  Xouvre 


born  there  nor  did  he  go  there  to  live  till  he  had  already 
acquired  some  considerable  prominence  as  fresco-painter 
in  his  own  town  of  Verona.  It  is  to  his  continued  use 
of  fresco-painting  when  all  the  Venetians  had  dropped  it 
for  the  more  pliant  oils  that  is  doubtless  due  much  of 
the  transparence  and  freshness  of  his  colour.  In  tempera 
painting  it  is  impossible  to  overlay,  to  muddy  by  re- 
working. He  was  the  best  draughtsman  in  the  Venetian 
school,  for  which  his  early  training  is  largely  accountable. 
His  compositions  are  brilliant  masterpieces  for  the 
apparent  ease  in  the  massing  of  the  immense  crowds  of 
figures,  for  the  dignity  with  which  he  treated  the  gor- 
geously dressed  assemblages  and  (in  spite  of  an  astound- 
ing richness  of  apparel,  a loading  of  jewels  and  elaborate 
architectural  ornamentation),  for  the  unerring  good 
taste  that  marks  all  these  magnificent  vnll  decorations. 
In  colour  he  was  somewhat  less  rich  than  Titian  and 
less  violent  in  chiaroscuro  than  Tintoretto.  He  has  been 
accused  of  being  a wholly  superficial  painter,  but  his 
Calvary  alone  at  the  Louvre  would  absolve  him  from 
that  accusation.  Nevertheless,  it  is  perfectly  true  that 
he  best  loved  to  portray  the  pageant  of  life.  It  was  in  the 
beauty  of  colour,  of  gleaming  flesh  against  satin  and 
velvet,  of  crowds  of  courtiers  and  ladies  against  the 
marble  of  stately  hall,  with  the  blue  of  Venetian  sky  for 
background,  that  he  revelled.  And  no  one  else  has  so  well 
expressed  the  gaiety,  the  pomp,  the  splendour  of  the 
Renaissance  in  the  queen  of  the  Italian  cities. 

The  Disciples  at  Emmaus  which  is  in  this  bay,  shows, 
in  the  centre  of  an  open  porch  or  gallery  a small  table 
at  which  is  seated  Jesus  blessing  the  bread.  At  his 
right  sits  a disciple,  in  profile,  gazing  with  wonder  and 
awe  at  his  master,  while  another  on  the  opposite  side 
reaches  out  his  hand  as  if  he  too,  was  overcome  at  the 


(3ran&e  Galerie 


109 


sight.  Back  of  them  are  several  servants,  both  men  and 
women.  At  the  left  stands  a group  which  represents  the 
painter’s  own  family.  He  himself,  in  black,  is  behind 
the  disciple  who  has  a bundle  knotted  on  his  staff,  and 
his  wife,  in  rich  robes  of  brilliant  colour,  stands  still 
farther  to  the  left,  one  child  in  her  arms,  three  others 
about  her.  The  painter’s  brother  is  against  the  frame, 
in  front  of  a pillar.  At  the  right,  through  an  opening 
between  pillars,  a view  of  distant  country,  with  Christ 
and  two  disciples  walking  down  the  road  is  seen.  In 
the  very  foreground  in  front  of  the  table  is  the  most 
beautiful  bit  of  the  whole  picture.  Two  small  girls  are 
on  the  marble  floor  playing  with  a big  dog.  Their  ex- 
quisite blondness,  soft  infantile  roundness  of  cheek  and 
arm  and  charming  purity  of  line  and  colour  make  the 
group  a rare  gem  even  for  Veronese.  They  are  supposed 
to  be  his  own  children. 

The  Calvary  is  one  of  Veronese’s  most  noted  and  most 
moving  of  pictures.  He  seldom  touches  the  heart,  still 
less  often  the  deep  emotions  of  the  soul.  But  here,  by 
a daring  originality  in  composition,  by  a masterly  arrange- 
ment of  light  and  shade,  by  an  unusual  simplicity  in 
colour  and  grouping,  he  reached  an  emotional  height  far 
beyond  his  wont.  At  the  left  rise  the  three  crosses  in  a 
diagonal  line  that  brings  the  third  into  the  middle  plane 
of  the  picture,  and  the  first  so  far  forward  that  the  upper 
part  of  the  cross  and  figure  is  cut  off  by  the  top  of  the 
panel.  The  central  one,  on  which  of  course  is  Jesus, 
is  thus  brought  into  its  proper  prominence  by  an  unusual 
arrangement.  Mary  Magdalene  kneels  at  the  foot  of 
the  cross,  her  back  to  the  spectator,  though  her  head  is 
thrown  up  so  that  it  is  brought  into  profile.  Next  to  her 
a woman  crouches  over  the  form  of  the  Virgin  who  has 
sunk  back  fainting  into  John’s  arms.  Another  tall  and 


no 


XEbe  art  of  tbe  Xouvre 


heavily  draped  woman  stands  beside  her  looking  down, 
her  hands  clasped  at  her  throat.  At  the  left  of  this 
group  are  two  Romans  beside  the  first  robber’s  cross, 
with  the  head  of  a horse  appearing  between  them.  Below, 
in  the  valley  to  the  right,  is  a distant  view  of  Jerusalem. 
The  sky  above  the  city  and  back  of  the  women  is  bril- 
liant with  angry  streaks,  while  heavy  clouds  crowd  the 
top  of  the  scene.  This  makes  a wonderfully  effective 
chiaroscuro.  The  deep  shadow  enveloping  the  group 
at  the  foot  of  the  cross  forms  a sombre  mass  against  the 
flaming  sky,  while  Christ’s  body,  catching  the  reflection 
of  this  sinister  lighting,  is  thrown  into  sharpened  relief 
against  the  banking  clouds  behind  him.  The  effect  of 
this  splendidly  wrought  out  scheme  is  almost  overwhelm- 
ing, and  at  the  same  time  there  is  no  false  note,  no 
theatrical  element. 

In  its  own  way  the  Burning  of  Sodom  is  almost  as 
effective.  In  the  foreground  at  the  left  an  angel  leads 
Lot’s  two  daughters  from  the  doomed  Sodom.  She  is 
between  the  two  girls,  clasping  the  hand  of  the  one  on 
the  right  who  is  stooping  to  lift  her  gown  as  she  steps 
over  a rock.  The  other  daughter  on  the  left  carries  a 
big  basket  and  hastens  her  steps  by  the  angel’s  side,  a 
little  dog  accompanying  her.  Back  of  them  Lot  is  being 
urged  on  by  another  angel  while  still  farther  in  the 
distance  the  disobedient  wife  is  seen,  already  whitening 
into  the  shapeless  pillar,  and  beyond,  are  the  flames  that 
sweep  the  city.  The  two  maidens  with  the  angel  form 
a charming  group,  the  voluminous  drapery  falling  about 
them  almost  with  a Botticelli  sort  of  rhythm,  though 
their  firm,  rounded,  vigorous  young  frames,  and  brilliant, 
clear  flesh,  are  as  far  as  possible  from  the  thin,  swaying, 
pallid  women  of  the  earlier  painter.  There  is  an  intoxi- 
cating sense  of  freedom,  of  movement,  about  these  has- 


Grange  (Valerie 


III 


tening  figures.  It  is  as  if  the  world  lay  wide  and  un- 
trammelled before  them  and  they  were  fairly  flying  to 
reach  the  vast  expanse. 

Veronese’s  two  Holy  Families  at  the  Louvre  are  both 
full  of  beauty  of  colour  and  composition,  though  it  is 
not  in  such  simple  scenes  that  he  is  generally  at  his  best. 
The  one  here  in  the  Grande  Galerie  shows  the  Madonna 
seated  within  a stately  room,  at  the  left,  her  face  in 
profile,  the  child  in  her  arms,  Elizabeth  standing  behind 
her.  The  baby  is  rosy  and  joyous,  his  arms  and  feet 
flying  out  in  a very  ecstasy  of  motion,  though  he  is  sup- 
posed to  be  only  blessing  the  nun,  who,  kissing  his  hand, 
kneels  before  him.  By  her  side  is  another  saint,  and  back 
of  her,  Joseph,  who  leans  over  her,  resting  on  his  staff. 
The  Madonna  is  rarely  young  and  slender  for  Veronese, 
and  has  a sweet  seriousness  and  real  feeling  in  her  lovely 
face.  The  comiposition  is  dignified  and  satisfactory. 

The  three  pictures  credited  to  Bonifazio  in  this  section 
of  the  gallery  are  probably  not  all  his. 

The  Holy  Family  with  Elizabeth  and  Joseph  and  other 
saints,  is  at  least  a characteristic  example  of  his  earlier 
style.  It  is  not  so  glowing  in  colour  as  some  of  his  to  be 
seen  in  Italy,  but  it  has  real  beauty  if  not  great  originality 
of  force.  In  front  of  a ruined  pillar,  overgrown  with 
flowers  sits  the  Madonna  in  a red  dress  and  white 
mantle  with  the  naked  baby  Christ  standing  upright 
on  her  lap,  one  foot  on  her  knee  the  other  on  her 

wrist.  At  the  left  is  Elizabeth  holding  John,  who 
has  his  crossed  reed.  In  the  foreground  at  the 

right  Joseph,  in  profile,  is  resting  his  chin  on  his 

hand  that  holds  his  staff.  St.  Anthony  is  at  the 

left  in  hermit  robes,  reading,  and  behind  him  St. 
Francis  stands  praying  in  bent  attitude.  Beside  the 


II2 


Tlbe  Hct  ot  tbe  3Louvre 


Virgin  on  the  left  is  the  Magdalene  offering  a vase  of 
perfumes,  and  behind  all,  a landscape  with  ruins. 

Bonifazio  was  a pupil  of  Palma  Vecchio  and  so  much 
a follower  of  Titian  that  the  question  about  more  than  one 
painting  has  been  whether  he  or  the  man  of  Cadore  was 
its  creator.  Charm  of  colour  was  his  in  a high  degree. 
Grace  of  composition,  beauty  of  line,  facility  of  exe- 
cution, in  fact,  a facile  brush  and  a clever  head,  this  was 
Bonifazio.  Withal,  he  lacked  depth  of  imagination 
and  true  warmth  of  feeling  and  never  really  created 
a single  type  or  even  a distinct  manner.  His  usual 
picture  was  a fashionably  attired  assemblage  shown  in 
a charming  country  landscape  or  under  trees,  engaged 
in  some  sort  of  “ fHe  chant petre.” 

His  pupil,  Bassano,  is  very  poorly  sho\vn  at  the  Louvre, 
none  of  the  seven  or  eight  canvases  giving  much  idea 
of  the  glowing,  jewel-like  colouring  that  fairly  thrills 
with  its  transcendent  brilliancy. 

Not  much  better  represented  is  Paris  Bordone,  though 
his  Portrait  of  a Man  does  perhaps  display  his  ability 
more  fairly.  Almost,  however,  he  can  be  called  the 
painter  of  one  picture,  for  nothing  he  ever  did  begins 
to  compare  with  his  famous  Fisherman  Presenting  the 
Ring  of  St.  Mark  to  the  Doge.  That  is  so  splendid  that 
it  does  not  pale  beside  Titian  or  Carpaccio.  Bordone  was 
among  the  Italians  called  to  the  court  of  Francois  IL, 
and  it  was  as  a painter  of  portraits  that  he  was  there  best 
known.  The  portrait  in  the  Louvre  is  a work  of  excel- 
lent handling  but  of  little  character.  It  is  supposed  to  be 
a likeness  of  Jeronimo  Croft  and  was  painted  while  the 
artist  was  at  Augsburg.  The  man  is  seated,  turned 
three-quarters  to  the  left,  his  head  almost  in  full  face. 
Dressed  in  black,  bordered  with  fur,  with  a black  cap,  he 
has  a dark,  full  beard,  slight  moustache  and  dark  eyes. 


Grange  ©alerie 


”3 


His  left  hand  rests  on  a table  at  his  right,  the  other  ex- 
tended, holds  a letter.  A column,  bearing  a large  coat- 
of-arms  is  at  the  left  behind  him,  a curtain  at  the  right. 
The  face  is  softly,  smoothly  modelled  with  fine  grada- 
tions of  tone.  It  has  a melancholy  aspect,  emphasized 
by  the  large  eyes  with  their  heavy  lids  and  dreamy 
expression.  The  accessories  in  the  way  of  background 
and  objects  on  the  table  are  somewhat  overdone. 

Another  portrait,  that  of  A Sculptor  by  Bronzino,  is 
worthy  of  comment.  It  is  a half-length  figure  of  a 
youth,  hardly  more  than  a boy,  standing  in  three- 
quarters  position  facing  the  left.  He  holds  in  his  hands 
a statuette  of  a nude  woman ; and  though  his  left  hand 
is  splendidly  articulated  and  is  full  of  really  fine  feeling, 
neither  that  nor  the  other  actually  grasps  the  statuette. 
The  boy  is  bareheaded  with  close-cropped  dark  hair, 
long,  dark  eyes  far  apart,  full  lips  closed  in  a wistful  line. 
He  is  in  black  with  a white  open-work  collar ; behind 
him  a green  drapery  hooked  back,  showing  a bare  wall. 

Bronzino  was  an  intimate  friend  of  Vasari  and 
imitated  Pontormo  who  was  a pupil  of  Andrea  del 
Sarto.  He  was  a capital  portrait-painter,  though  his 
colour  was  not  usually  equal  to  his  draughtsmanship. 

Already  these  last  names  hint  the  end  of  the  great 
race  of  painters  of  Italy.  The  Decadence  had  come,  and 
only  an  occasional  genius  rose  to  break  the  downward 
race  of  the  art.  The  Caracci,  under  the  leadership  of 
Lodovico  did  make  a valiant  attempt  to  return  to  the 
principles  of  the  great  past.  They  were  Bolognese,  and 
their  school  is  generally  styled  “eclectic.”  In  opposition 
to  the  mannerists,  the  decadents  of  the  time,  they  tried 
to  inculcate  the  study  and  imitation  of  all  the  great 
masters  joined  to  an  intelligent  observation  of  nature. 
There  was  therefore  in  their  work  often  to  be  seen  most 


XTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


114 

flagrant  imitation  now  of  this  man,  now  of  that.  Yet,  on 
the  whole,  they  may  be  said  to  have  instigated  a healthy 
reactionary  movement.  Of  the  three,  Lodovico,  Agostino 
and  Annibale,  the  last  was  by  far  the  most  talented.  He 
had  real  talent  that  expressed  itself  in  graceful  lines,  soft 
harmonies  of  light  and  shade  and  a certain  tenderness 
in  modelling  that  nevertheless  did  not  preclude  real 
and  at  times  decided  vigour.  He  was  one  of  the  first  to 
paint  landscape  as  landscape  and  not  as  mere  accessory 
for  figure  studies.  He  is  well  represented  at  the  Louvre, 
and  among  the  best  of  the  canvases  are  The  Sleeping 
Christ,  The  Virgin  with  Cherries  and  The  Dead  Christ 
on  the  Knees  of  the  Virgin. 

In  the  first  of  these,  behind  a table,  stands  the  Ma- 
donna, only  the  upper  part  of  her  figure  being  visible. 
She  is  leaning  forward,  one  arm  about  the  little  Jesus, 
who,  stretched  out  asleep  on  the  table,  has  his  head  on  her 
shoulder.  At  the  end  of  the  table  at  the  left,  the  small 
St.  John  stands,  one  insistent  forefinger  cautiously  touch- 
ing the  leg  of  the  baby,  while  his  laughing  face  is  turned 
in  profile  up  to  the  Madonna.  She  is  looking  at  him, 
half-smiling,  but  with  her  finger  at  her  lips  to  enjoin 
silence.  There  is  a very  sympathetic  feeling  in  this 
picture.  , St.  John’s  roguish  head  with  its  wealth  of 
curls  and  the  tender  face  of  the  mother,  suggesting  per- 
haps both  Correggio  and  Veronese,  belong  distinctly  to 
the  Bolognese  painter. 

The  second  picture  recalls  again  something  of  the 
manner  of  Correggio  in  chiaroscuro,  modelling  and 
types.  The  Virgin  is  seated,  in  full  face,  the  baby  Christ 
standing  on  her  knees,  his  left  arm  about  her  neck,  his 
right  holding  the  cherries  stretched  out  to  Joseph,  whose 
large  hand  is  under  the  tiny  one.  The  man’s  head  is  in 
deep  shadow  and  it  throws  a shade  also  over  the  upper 


(Branbe  (Balede 


“5 


part  of  the  child’s  face.  There  is  a sort  of  conventional 
naturalism  in  the  mother  that  is  not  displeasing  though 
her  type  is  not  particularly  elevated. 

The  Dead  Christ  on  the  Knees  of  the  Madonna  with 
the  two  little  angels  at  the  right  is  one  of  his  best  works. 
It  has  something  of  the  deep  feeling  of  the  earlier  masters 
and  is  remarkably  good  in  line  and  chiaroscuro. 

Guido  Reni  was  a pupil  of  Caracci  and  his  works 
successively  show  the  influence  of  first  one  master  and 
then  another.  Now  he  is  extremely  Raphaelesque,  again 
he  reminds  one  of  Caravaggio,  and  a third  style  sug- 
gests no  great  master’s  name,  — it  is  one  of  pure  affec- 
tation, — figures  of  wax,  with  eyes  turned  theatrically 
heavenward,  and  with  nothing  appealing  to  either  true 
emotion  or  the  mind.  Of  this  order  are  the  Magdalene 
and  the  Ecce  Homo  of  the  Louvre. 

The  St.  Sebastian  in  this  bay,  is  better,  and  is  a figure 
of  careful  and  beautiful  modelling,  spiritedly  drawn,  and 
with  a vigour  characteristic  of  Caravaggio.  He  is  pre- 
sented in  nearly  full  length  leaning  against  a tree  to 
which  he  is  bound,  his  hands  behind  him,  his  head 
turned  to  the  left,  his  eyes  lifted  to  the  sky.  At  the  right, 
below  and  in  deep  shadow  are  seen  the  executioners,  and 
in  the  distance  beyond,  a lake  or  stream  that  shimmers 
brightly  out  of  the  surrounding  gloom.  The  head  of 
Sebastian  is  rarely  noble,  of  a deep,  pathetic  beauty  em- 
phasized by  the  strong  but  luminous  shadow  that  sweeps 
over  the  entire  right  side.  Very  beautiful  too  are  the 
chest  and  shoulders  which  are  thrust  forward  into 
intense  light. 

The  St.  Cecilia  by  Domenichino  in  this  bay  is  by  far 
his  best  work  in  the  Louvre.  It  does  not,  of  course,  begin 
to  come  up  to  the  splendid  Jerome  of  the  Vatican,  a work 
which  proves  that  the  painter  could  reach  heights  beyond 


ii6 


Zbc  Hct  of  tbe  Xouvre 


the  possibilities  of  even  his  masters  the  Caracci.  But 
it  is  full  of  a grace  of  colour  and  tone  joined  to  tender- 
ness of  expression.  The  saint  is  standing  in  nearly  full 
face  behind  a stone  balustrade  which  cuts  her  off  just 
below  the  knees.  The  big  bass  viol  on  which  she  is 
playing  rests  on  the  balustrade  where  is  perched  also 
the  small  boy  angel  who  serves  as  music-rack  by  holding 
the  score  on  his  head.  St.  Cecilia  is  singing  as  well  as 
playing  and,  with  eyes  raised  heavenward  she  pays  no 
attention  to  either  music  or  angel.  As  was  customary 
when  painting  the  patron  saint  of  music,  Domenichino 
dressed  her  richly,  her  red  robe  with  its  violet  sleeves 
ornamented  with  embroidered  bands  and  her  broad 
turban  wound  with  jewels.  The  picture  was  extremely 
popular,  and  has  become  world-known  through  its  numer- 
ous reproductions.  Though  to-day  would  not  give  it 
the  high  place  it  used  to  occupy,  it  has  a distinctive  and 
delicate  charm  that  will  always  make  it  enjoyable. 

Another  painter  who  was  at  first  largely  influenced 
by  the  Caracci  and  afterward  by  Caravaggio  is 
Guercino.  Later  on  his  manner  grew  softer,  and  he 
imitated  the  style  of  Guido  Reni.  His  last  period  is  by 
far  his  worst  and  if  he  never  quite  reaches  the  depths 
into  which  Guido  plunged  it  is  because  of  his  more 
clear  and  transparent  colouring,  though  even  the  colour 
finally  gets  faded  and  insipid.  It  was  the  transparence 
and  purity  of  his  colour  joined  to  a certain  grace  and 
correctness  of  drawing  that  made  hiiu  famous  for 
generations.  To-day  he,  like  Guido,  seems  meaningless 
and  at  the  same  time  theatric.  Of  his  works  in  the 
Louvre  only  a few  even  approach  his  best. 

Circe  represents  a fully  clothed  young  woman  stand- 
ing by  a table  on  which  is  an  open  book  of  geometric 
diagrams  and  a vase.  She  has  a most  elaborate  turban 


Gran&e  Galerie 


117 

on  her  head  ornamented  with  pearls,  and  she  holds  in  her 
hands  another  vase.  Her  face  is  without  distinction  of 
any  kind. 

With  the  Procession  of  the  Doge,  and  the  FHe  of 
Jeudi  Gras  at  Venice,  we  come  to  very  different  art. 
They  are  by  Guardi,  a follower  of  Canaletto,  whose  views 
of  Venice  are  celebrated  for  the  sparkle  and  brilliance 
of  their  colour.  Guardi’s  works  are  to-day  highly  prized 
and  show  an  iridescence  of  colour  and  great  facility  of 
execution.  Of  his  pictures  in  the  Louvre  it  is  not  neces- 
sary to  particularize  many.  The  two  mentioned  above 
are  principally  remarkable  for  their  truth  of  architectural 
detail,  for  the  easy  management  of  crowds  of  pleasure- 
seekers  and  for  the  scintillating  colour  that  is  a part 
of  the  inheritance  of  the  Queen  of  the  Adriatic. 

Tiepolo,  the  last  of  the  great  Italian  painters,  is  the 
author  of  the  Last  Supper  hanging  on  the  north  wall  of 
Bay  B.  It  has  been  said  of  Tiepolo  that  had  he  lived 
in  the  time  of  Veronese  he  would  have  rivalled  the 
greatest  of  the  masters  of  the  Renaissance.  While  all 
about  him  the  decadence  had  ceased  even  to  suggest  the 
days  of  the  golden  age,  he  came,  and  by  his  individuality, 
his  power,  his  force,  and  his  colour,  made  a name  for  him- 
self in  Italian  art  that  is  rivalled  only  by  his  predecessors 
of  a more  fortunate  age. 

In  looking  at  the  Last  Supper  here,  there  remains  no 
doubt  that  it  is  the  work  of  a modern  rather  than  of  a 
man  of  the  Renaissance.  The  freedom  of  treatment,  the 
actual  brush-work,  and  finally  the  point  of  view,  which 
is  realistic  beyond  any  of  the  fifteenth  or  even  sixteenth- 
century  painters,  all  proclaim  it  of  to-day,  in  spite  of  its 
century  and  half  age.  In  a sort  of  gallery,  with  huge, 
Ionic  pillars  of  green  marble,  the  table  is  spread.  In  the 
centre,  is  Christ,  dressed  in  a red  robe  and  blue  mantle, 


Zbc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


1 18 

— one  of  the  painting’s  few  conventionalities.  About 
him  are  the  disciples,  and  Tiepolo  has  not  hesitated  to 
place  two  of  them  back  to  the  spectator.  Christ  is 
blessing  the  bread  and  the  disciples  are  in  various  atti- 
tudes, not  all,  it  is  evident,  full  of  the  spirit  of  adoration. 
In  the  foreground  a dog  chews  a bone.  The  violent 
action  and  overexpressive  countenances  of  the  disciples, 
the  unnecessary  elaboration  of  the  architectural  back- 
ground, are  characteristic  of  Tiepolo,  but  they  are  faults 
of  the  time  rather  than  inherently  his.  His  influence  over 
French  art  was  prodigious,  and  may,  perhaps,  be  felt 
even  to-day  in  some  of  the  French  painters. 

Caravaggio  and  Salvator  Rosa,  though  of  much  earlier 
time  than  Tiepolo,  are  not  found  till  the  fourth  bay,  D, 
where  they  hang  in  company  with  the  Spanish  school, 
which  indeed,  owes  much  to  their  influence. 

Caravaggio  may  be  said  to  occupy  a similar  position 
in  Rome  to  that  Ribera  did  a little  later  in  Naples.  Both 
men  had  similar  ideals  and  aims  in  art.  Superficially, 
the  principal  attributes  of  this  end  of  the  sixteenth  and 
early  seventeenth-century  Italian,  are  his  extraordinary 
contrasts  between  his  lights  and  shadows,  a rude  force  in 
types,  in  attitudes  and  expression  and  in  the  general  lines 
of  his  compositions.  He  lacks  unquestionably  the  highest 
attributes  of  a great  painter.  He  is  often  wholly  devoid 
of  beauty,  has  very  slight  religious  feeling  even  in  his 
church  pictures,  is  frequently  violent,  often  coarse,  and 
shows  no  very  elevated  type  in  even  his  most  famous 
pictures.  But  power,  originality  in  massing,  a brilliant 
if  theatric  sense  of  the  value  of  climax,  and  the  way 
to  express  it,  a poignant,  if  more  physical  than  mental 
emotion,  and  a tremendously  dramatic  use  of  chiaroscuro, 
he  shows  over  and  over  again.  And  in  the  midst  of 


<3ran&e  Galerie 


1 19 

inanities  and  decadence  his  name  must  stand  out  as  at 
least  representing  personality  and  originality. 

His  Death  of  the  Virgin  in  Bay  D is  a really  superbly 
realistic  scene,  painted  with  a somewhat  restrained  force, 
for  Caravaggio,  and  free  from  exaggeration.  The 
Virgin  in  a red  robe  covered  with  a gray  cloak  lies  on 
a couch  in  the  centre  of  a room,  one  arm  flung  out 
straight,  the  other  at  her  waist.  Her  bare  feet  protrude 
below  her  draperies.  In  front  of  her  sits  a girl  bent  over 
in  grief,  and  behind  the  bed  are  the  apostles,  weeping 
or  gazing  sorrowfully  at  the  dead  woman.  A conventional 
piece  of  red  drapery  is  lifted  up  over  the  top  of  the 
picture.  When  this  canvas  was  placed  in  the  Chiesa 
della  Scala,  in  Trastevere  in  Rome,  it  was  called  too 
realistic  and  with  not  enough  of  ideality  in  the  Virgin’s 
figure. 

Very  splendid  is  his  Portrait  of  Alof  de  Wignacortrt, 
grand  master  of  Malta  in  1601.  It  is  puissant,  not  at  all 
theatric,  and  painted  broadly  and  freely  with  the  unafraid 
brush  of  the  daring  Italian. 

An  outcome  of  the  school  of  Ribera  was  Salvator 
Rosa,  who  has  in  Bay  D one  of  his  most  famous  Battles. 
The  same  intense  love  of  contrasts,  exaggeration  of 
action  and  dramatic  feeling  that  often  becomes  excessive, 
are  shown  in  his  pictures.  He  was  extremely  versatile, 
painting  historical  scenes,  landscapes,  genre  subjects 
or  battles,  with  equal  facility.  Some  of  them  possess 
real  power,  some  are  scarcely  more  than  stupid  academic 
studies. 

In  this  Battle,  suffused  with  its  lurid,  yellow  light, 
the  combat  rages  straight  across  the  foreground.  It  is 
a wild  melee  of  horse  and  man  which  has  no  ®ne  central 
climax  of  action,  no  one  point  to  arrest  the  eye.  Under 
rearing,  plunging  horses,  over  twisting,  screaming,  con- 


120 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


torted  human  bodies,  the  dead  and  dying  are  falling, 
while  the  living  make  a frothing,  yelling  mass  of  in- 
furiated beasts.  At  the  right  a ruined  Ionic  portico 
forms  a sort  of  rest  for  the  eye  before  it  follows  the  line 
of  battle  in  the  distance,  where  whole  companies  of 
horsemen  are  pursued  by  others  to  the  base  of  the  rocky 
mountains  that  loom  against  the  angry  sky.  At  the 
left,  ships  are  seen  in  blaze.  The  whole  scene  is  one  of 
terrible  power  and  devastation,  lacking,  however,  in  its 
indiscriminate  conglomeration  sufficient  focusing  to  make 
it  a masterly  composition. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

GRANDE  GALERIE  — BAY  THIRD  — ITALIAN  DIVISION 

The  third  bay,  marked  C in  the  Louvre  catalogue,  miay 
be  called  Raphael’s  room,  though  a few  other  painters 
are  also  represented. 

The  Virgin  and  Child  by  Perugino  is  a round  panel 
in  which  the  compositional  lines  do  not  well  conform  to 
the  circular  form.  Once  more,  it  is  not  Perugino  any- 
where near  at  his  best.  The  Madonna,  in  a red  dress 
and  blue  mantle  lined  with  green,  is  seated  on  a throne- 
chair  in  an  open  balcony  holding  the  child  on  her  lap. 
At  the  right  is  St.  Catherine  of  Alexandria,  in  a red 
mantle  draped  crosswise  over  a green  dress,  and  carrying 
a book  in  her  right  hand  and  a feather  pen  in  her  left. 
On  the  other  side  is  St.  Rose,  holding  a rose  branch  in  her 
left  hand  and  a vase  in  her  right.  Both  these  saints 
stand  with  their  heads  bent  at  a very  Peruginesque  angle, 
looking  at  the  Madonna  and  child.  On  a parapet  behind 
them  and  thus  raised  above,  are  two  angels  whose  wings 
are  outspread  and  whose  hands  are  met  in  prayer.  There 
is  a sweetness  about  this  tondo  that  is  not  cloying  though 
the  similarity  in  the  five  faces  and  even  in  the  attitudes 
suggest  lack  of  invention  or  carelessness.  The  child  is 
far  from  attractive,  being  tight  in  handling  and  ill- 
favoured  in  expression. 

The  St.  Sebastian  is  charming  only  for  its  lovely  land- 

121 


122 


XTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


scape  and  depth  of  limpid  blue  sky.  Otherwise  it  is 
mannered  in  the  extreme,  showing  Perugino’s  most 
glaring  faults. 

The  Apollo  and  Marsyas  in  this  bay  has  been  credited 
to  Raphael,  but  Morelli  calls  it  by  Perugino,  and  critics 
generally  agree  that  it  is  at  least  by  one  of  his  school. 
It  is  an  admirable  little  picture,  with  great  purity  of  line 
and  transparence  of  colour.  The  two  figures  are  nude, 
and  have  the  perfection  of  miniatures.  Apollo  stands  at 
the  right,  a slender,  graceful  figure  in  a position  not 
unlike  the  Dionysius  at  Rome.  He  rests  on  his  right  foot 
and  on  his  tall  staff  which  he  holds  in  his  right  hand, 
while  his  left  is  on  his  hip.  He  has  turned  his  face  till  it 
is  nearly  in  profile,  looking  at  Marsyas  who  sits  on 
a rock  at  the  left,  playing  on  a reed.  The  latter  is 
wholly  absorbed  in  his  pastime  and  quite  unconscious 
of  the  high  disdain  expressed  in  the  face  of  the  golden- 
haired god.  Between  the  two  on  the  ground  are  a 
lyre,  a quiver  and  arrows.  A carefully  worked-out 
landscape  stretches  about  them  and  beyond  to  distant 
mountains. 

Of  all  the  works  credited  to  Raphael  in  the  Louvre, 
there  are  probably  only  four  that  are  entirely  by  him. 
The  little  St.  George  and  the  little  St.  Michael  are  two 
of  his  very  early  efforts.  There  is  an  archaism  about 
them  that  is  positively  felicitous.  The  crude  technique 
and  simple  forms  seem  quite  adequate  for  expressing 
the  old  legends  that  belong  to  the  primitive  days  of  belief. 
They  were  both  painted  for  the  Duke  Guidobaldo  of 
Urbino,  somewhere  about  1500,  making  them  thus  repre- 
sentative of  his  tutelage  under  Timoteo  Viti  before  he 
was  influenced  by  Perugino.  They  are  hard  in  outline 
and  singularly  deficient  in  the  graceful  sweetness  char- 
acteristic of  his  Peruginesque  period. 


Gran&e  0alerie 


123 


In  the  St.  George  the  scene  takes  place  in  a rocky 
landscape,  in  the  back  of  which,  among  clitfs,  the  prin- 
cess is  seen  running  fearfully  away.  In  the  foreground 
on  a fine  white,  if  decidedly  clumsy  and  rather  wooden 
horse,  is  the  brave  knight  in  full  armour.  He  has 
broken  his  spear,  but  part  of  it  still  sticks  in  the  dragon, 
which,  writhing  in  agony,  has  reared  up  on  his  haunches 
and  appears  about  to  spring  at  the  saint. 

The  St.  Michael  shows  the  angel  in  rich  mail,  his 
golden  hair  flying  under  his  helmet,  his  shield  of  shining 
white  with  a red  cross  on  it,  his  multicoloured  wings 
rising  above  his  head.  With  his  sword  in  air  he  has 
trampled  the  dragon  underfoot.  All  about  are  various 
queer  beasts,  and  at  the  right  at  the  base  of  the  mountains 
are  contorted  demons.  The  landscape  is  dark  and  mena- 
cing. 

The  Madonna  of  the  Veil  was  probably  executed  by 
Giulio  Romano.  In  it  the  Virgin  is  seen  in  the  midst  of 
Romanesque  ruins,  on  her  knees  before  the  sleeping  Jesus, 
just  lifting  the  veil  from  his  little  body.  Encircled  by 
her  left  arm  the  baby  Baptist  also  kneels,  adoring. 

St.  John  the  Baptist  in  the  Desert  is  now  supposed  to  be 
by  Piombo  from  a sketch  by  Michelangelo.  It  shows 
the  beautiful  youth  seated  on  a tree-trunk  with  upraised 
hand. 

The  St.  Marguerite,  arising  from  the  dragon  which 
had  swallowed  her,  was  painted  for  Frangois  I.  and  is 
largely  again  the  work  of  Romano.  It  is  in  a most 
deplorable  state,  owing  to  its  transfer  from  wood  to 
canvas  and  its  consequent  necessary  repainting. 

The  very  interesting,  sensitive  Portrait  of  a Young 
Man,  with  its  joyous,  childlike  expression,  though  long 
attributed  to  Raphael  is  now  supposed  to  be  by  Bac- 
chiacca. 


124 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


None  of  these  examples  whether  or  not  actually  by 
Raphael  gives  one  even  a slight  idea  of  the  man  who  was 
the  greatest  assimilative  mind  the  world  of  art  has  ever 
known.  He  was  not  only  the  greatest  assimilator,  he  was 
the  quickest.  The  history  of  his  life  between  the  ages  of 
nineteen  and  thirty-four  may  be  said  to  be  the  history 
of  almost  the  entire  Renaissance  of  Italy,  excepting  that 
phase  most  characteristic  of  Venice.  From  Timoteo  Viti 
to  Perugino,  to  Fra  Bartolommeo,  to  Leonardo,  to 
Michelangelo,  to  Sebastiano  del  Piombo,  such  are  the 
successive  stages  shown  in  the  work  of  a man  who  lived 
to  not  half  the  years  attained  by  any  of  the  masters  whose 
methods  he  absorbed.  It  was  not  only  their  methods 
he  made  his,  but  their  aims,  their  achievements,  their 
spirit,  he  grasped  at  a glance,  and  understood  their 
very  essence  as  if  he  had  been  working  for  years  in  the 
same  direction.  While  grace  and  beauty  are  the  two 
attributes  with  which  Raphael’s  works  are  most  generally 
stamped,  his  greatness  lies  in  something  beyond  mere 
grace  and  beauty,  beyond  his  marvellous  gift  as  illus- 
trator and  infinitely  beyond  his  extraordinary  powers  of 
assimilation  and  adaptation.  He  is  the  greatest  master 
of  composition  that  European  art  up  to  this  twentieth 
century  can  show.  No  other  man  has  approached  him 
in  his  spacing,  his  arrangement,  his  management  of  line 
and  mass,  his  instinctive  perception  of  the  most  perfect 
coordination  possible  between  space  and  figure.  No  one 
else  gives  us  such  a feeling  of  amplitude  and  air,  in  his 
out-of-door  scenes,  or  of  vastness  of  space  in  his  temples 
and  chambers.  The  art  of  composition  as  it  is  to-day 
did  not  exist  before  Raphael’s  time.  And  all  that 
artists  have  learned  since  has  only  emphasized  the  extent 
and  completeness  of  his  supremacy.  In  the  Louvre  there 
is  no  opportunity  to  study  him  at  his  highest  expression 


<3rant)e  (3alerie 


I2S 

in  composition.  But  the  Belle  Jardiniere  is  one  of  the 
most  perfectly  balanced,  exquisitely  massed  groups 
known  in  all  art. 

Giulio  Romano’s  Triumph  of  Titus  and  Vespasian  is 
in  this  section.  Drawn  by  four  piebald  horses  is  a 
magnificent  chariot  in  which  ride  the  two  emperors. 
They  stand  in  profile,  in  full  regalia,  already  crowned  with 
laurel.  Over  their  heads  a Victory  flies  holding  two 
other  crowns.  Beside  the  chariot  a youth  carries  a 
precious  vase,  and  at  the  horses’  heads  two  men  run  as 
ecuries.  In  front  of  them  far  at  the  right,  a soldier 
pushes  before  him  a female  figure  whom  he  is  grabbing 
by  the  hair.  She  is  supposed  to  represent  the  conquered 
Judea.  They  are  all  about  to  pass  under  an  arch  whose 
pillars  show  at  the  extreme  right.  In  the  distance  is  a 
landscape,  with  a lake  and  bordering  town. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


GRANDE  GALERIE  — BAYS  FOURTH  AND  FIFTH  — SPAN- 
ISH, GERMAN  AND  ENGLISH  DIVISIONS 

The  Spanish  pictures  in  the  Louvre  are  inadequate, 
considering  the  importance  of  the  school,  but  there  are 
a few  of  the  more  important  masters  that  are  well  worth 
exhaustive  study. 

Of  these,  Morales’s  Christ  Carrying  the  Cross  is  not 
one,  except  as  it  is  the  only  example  here  of  this  early 
Spanish  painter.  He  was  the  first  of  the  artists  of 
Spain  to  achieve  more  than  a national  fame.  It  is  not 
known  with  whom  he  studied  but  it  is  certain  that  he 
far  surpassed  any  teacher  he  may  have  had.  Like  most 
of  the  Spanish  painters  his  works  were  strictly  religious 
in  character.  This  was  a necessity  first  because  the 
Church  was  practically  the  only  patron  of  the  arts,  but 
even  more  because  the  rigid  arm  of  the  Inquisition 
allowed  them  to  paint  only  what  the  Church  declared 
proper.  In  his  time  Morales  was  titled  “ The  Divine,” 
possibly  from  his  skill  in  rendering  the  faces  of  the 
Madonna  and  Christ,  but  more  likely  from  his  extreme 
finish  of  detail.  He  could  out-Diirer  Diirer  in  his  minute 
drawing  of  “ hyacinthine  locks,”  and  even  Diirer  could 
hardly  equal  him  in  his  power  of  painting  every  individual 
hair  of  stubbly  beards.  Besides  this  microscopic  pains- 
taking he  had  a very  devout  piety  and  a real  grandeur  of 

126 


©ran&e  (Balerie 


127 


expression  that  made  the  heads  and  hands  of  his  Christs 
and  Madonnas  far  above  those  of  the  merely  perfunctory 
religious  painter.  In  the  drawing  of  the  figure  he  is  weak 
and  ineffectual.  Considering  that  the  Inquisition  made 
it  impossible  for  a painter  to  study  the  nude  except 
from  drawings  or  casts  it  is  remarkable  that  he  achieved 
what  he  did  in  this  line. 

His  one  picture  in  the  Louvre  is  a very  good  example 
of  his  work  at  its  best.  As  the  figure  is  cut  off  above  the 
knees,  and  as  the  huge  cross  covers  up  most  of  the  rest 
of  the  body,  his  insecure  anatomy  is  not  greatly  felt. 
Standing  with  the  cross  clasped  close  to  him,  Christ’s 
body  is  in  full  face,  while  the  burden  has  tipped  his  head 
till  it  is  in  three-quarters  view.  He  is  crowned  with 
thorns,  and  down  his  face  the  drops  of  blood  are  stream- 
ing, the  agony  of  both  physical  and  mental  suffering 
showing  plainly  on  his  drawn,  hopeless  countenance. 
The  delicate  hands  that  hold  the  great  arms  of  the  cross 
are  very  beautifully  rendered  but  they  do  not  express 
any  pressure.  Hands  so  placed  could  by  no  possibility 
hold  their  burden.  There  are  dignity,  power,  beauty  and 
religious  fervour  in  this  picture. 

From  Morales,  born  in  1509,  to  Ribera,  whose  birth 
was  not  till  1588,  is  a long  jump.  Of  the  few  Spanish 
painters  worth  mentioning  that  come  between  the  two 
names  the  Louvre  possesses  no  noticeable  work.  And 
Ribera,  though  born  in  Spain,  went  early  to  Italy  and 
spent  almost  all  his  life  there.  In  Italy  he  went  by  the 
title  of  Lo  Spagnoletto.  Though,  as  has  been  noted,  his 
works  are  strongly  influenced  by  Caravaggio,  some  of 
his  paintings  have  a golden  glow  and  softness,  reminding 
one  of  Correggio.  His  works  are  scattered  all  over  Italy 
and  all  through  Europe.  The  Louvre  has  some  that  are 
creditable,  though  probably  not  equal  to  his  highest 


128 


XTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


achievements.  In  the  Madonna  and  Child  and  the  Adora- 
tion of  the  Shepherds,  he  presents  a side  of  his  art  com- 
paratively little  known.  Instead  of  the  writhing  saints 
suffering  the  death  agonies  of  their  martyrdom,  he  has 
here  depicted  the  mother  and  child  with  a tenderness,  a 
sweetness  and  a real  power  that  proclaim  him  to  be  a 
worthy  predecessor  of  Murillo. 

In  the  Adoration  of  the  Shepherds,  the  babe  is  seen 
lying  on  a bundle  of  straw  that  rests  on  a rude,  wooden 
cradle.  He  has  turned  his  face  and  eyes  to  look  at  the 
two  shepherds  who  kneel  at  his  head,  their  rough  faces 
full  of  a wondering,  ecstatic  piety.  On  the  other  side 
of  his  crib  kneels  Mary,  her  hands  met  in  prayer,  her 
face  raised  to  heaven.  Behind  her,  and  looking  over  her 
shoulder  is  the  third  shepherd,  and  back  of  the  first  two 
a woman  comes  bearing  a bundle.  On  the  hills  in  the 
distance  are  shepherds  with  their  flocks,  and  in  the  sky, 
far  off,  an  angel  announcing  the  “ glad  tidings.”  In 
the  immediate  foreground  a dead  calf  lies,  the  gift  of  the 
shepherds.  As  a composition  this  is  a trifle  crowded, 
but  the  light  is  skilfully  managed  without  the  too  heavy 
forcing  of  shadows  which  was  too  common  with  Ribera. 
The  three  men  are  realistically  and  most  sympathetically 
portrayed  and  Mary  is  a wonderfully  lovely  creation. 
She  is  thoroughly  Spanish,  just  as  the  Italians  made  their 
Madonnas  Italian,  but  she  has  a tender,  devout  face, 
not  at  all  the  “ Mother  of  Heaven  ” type,  but  rather 
that  of  a sweet  earth  girl-mother. 

In  the  Madonna  and  Child,  Mary  is  lifting  her  son  from 
his  pallet  of  straw,  her  ovm  face  lifted  as  if  calling  down 
a blessing  on  the  sleeping  babe.  It  is  a half-length 
picture,  and  has  more  of  the  depth  of  shadow  usual  to 
Ribera.  The  deep  tones  are  used  effectively,  however, 
making  the  light  on  the  child’s  and  on  IMary’s  counte- 


(Brant>e  (Balerie 


129 


nance  all  the  more  telling  in  its  brilliancy.  Correggio 
might  own  the  chubby  child  without  shame,  and  Murillo 
has  painted  far  more  unsatisfactory  Madonnas  than  this 
deep-eyed,  earnest  woman,  who  seems  to  feel  a presage 
of  future  woe. 

The  intense  Caravaggioesque  blotches  of  shadows  in 
the  Entombment,  proclaim  the  Italian’s  dominance  over 
the  Spaniard.  While  there  seems  to  be  no  logical  ex- 
planation for  such  tremendous  spotting,  and  while  it 
gives  an  unreal,  rather  than  dramatic  effect  to  the  scene, 
Ribera  has  managed  his  extremes  with  much  skill,  and 
has  shown  remarkable  anatomical  knowledge  and,  more, 
splendid  characterization.  Christ  is  stretched  out  on  the 
sepulchre,  Joseph  of  Arimathea  standing  behind  him 
holding  his  head  and  shoulders.  Next  to  Joseph  come 
Mary,  the  Magdalene  and  Nicodemus,  bent  over  in 
grief,  gazing  at  the  prostrate  figure.  Of  these  four 
figures,  only  their  heads  and  shoulders  show,  and  of  them 
all  Nicodemus,  ^^hose  face  is  in  sharp  profile,  alone  comes 
into  full  light.  He  has  a dignity  and  self-control  that 
give  added  power  to  his  fine  profile.  The  others  are 
largely  lost  in  the  shadow  that  makes  the  background. 
The  Saviour,  entirely  nude  but  for  a fold  of  linen  over 
his  loins,  is  a magnificent  rendering  of  a limp,  lifeless 
form.  The  dead  weight  of  his  head  and  shoulders 
is  admirably  indicated,  and  the  drawing  of  the  loose 
hands,  the  fallen  head  wonderfully  excellent.  The  cold 
black  shadows,  however,  remain  to  prevent  this  from 
being  a greater  picture. 

Zurbaran,  who  has  been  called  the  Caracci  of  Spain, 
has  a couple  of  pictures  that  are  interesting  and  not 
wholly  unworthy  of  the  man  who  at  his  best  has  been 
considered  greater  than  Murillo.  He  was  greatly  appre- 
ciated by  Velasquez,  and  worked  with  him  on  important 


130 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


commissions.  His  admiration  for  Caracci  at  times  led 
him  into  conventionality  and  a theatric  treatment  of  con- 
trasts in  chiaroscuro,  but  at  times  he  reaches  a height 
of  expression  and  an  ideal  treatm,ent  of  shadow  that 
recalls  Rembrandt.  At  such  times,  too,  his  colour  has 
a depth  of  richness  and  his  tones  a luminosity  that  few 
painters  have  ever  excelled. 

The  picture  here  supposed  to  represent  St.  Peter  and 
St.  Raymond  is  wrongly  catalogued.  It  is  really  St. 
Bonaventura  Presiding  at  a Chapter  of  Minor  Brothers. 
The  other,  named  Funeral  of  a Bishop,  is  the  Funeral  of 
St.  Bonaventura,  the  prelate  who  died  in  1274  in  Lyons, 
where  he  had  gone  to  open  the  council  called  by  Gregory 
X.  in  an  attempt  to  effect  the  union  of  the  Greek  and  the 
Roman  Church.  They  are  both  paintings  fairly  repre- 
sentative of  Zurbaran,  though  not  full  of  the  beauty  of 
tone  and  depth  of  clear  shadow  as  are  some  of  his 
pictures  of  monks,  notably  the  ones  in  IMunich  and  the 
National  Gallery.  In  the  first  of  these  Louvre  canvases, 
St.  Bonaventura  stands  before  a row  of  his  brothers, 
exhorting  them  with  great  eloquence  and  with  a troubled 
countenance.  Opposite  him  is  seated  the  Pope.  In  the 
funeral  scene,  Zurbaran  introduces  not  only  Pope 
Gregory  X.  but  also  Michael  VII.,  Emperor  of  the  East- 
ern Empire,  Paleologue  of  the  Patriarch  of  Constanti- 
nople, and  of  the  Envo3's  of  Scythia.  Gregory  owed  his 
elevation  to  the  papal  throne  to  the  influence  of  Bona- 
ventura at  the  time  of  the  conclave.  Paul  Lefort  places 
these  pictures  in  the  front  rank  of  the  painter’s  works. 

The  poor  selection  of  Spanish  works  possessed  by  the 
Louvre  is  never  more  keenl}’  felt  than  when  its  canvases 
by  Velasquez  are  considered.  The  little  Infanta  IMar- 
garita  is  the  only  one  which  conveys  anj*  adequate  idea 
of  his  genius.  The  Portrait  of  Philip  IV.  is  now  thought 


PORTRAIT  OF  PHILIP  IV. 

By  Velasquez 


Grange  Galerle 


131 

to  be  a copy  by  Mazo  of  the  celebrated  one  in  the  Madrid 
gallery.  It  shows  him  standing  under  a tree  in  hunting 
costume.  He  appears  about  thirty  years  old,  wears  a 
buff  jacket  and  long  gauntlet  gloves.  Hanging  at  his 
side  his  right  hand  holds  a long  gun,  his  left,  only  partly 
seen  as  he  stands  facing  the  right,  rests  on  his  hip, 
against  which  he  holds  his  hat.  A large  dog  sits  by  his 
side.  Here  the  pale  face  of  the  king  has  that  pasty 
white  look  making  the  full  lips  more  unnatural  in  their 
redness. 

The  Assemblage  of  Thirteen  People  among  whom 
at  the  left  are  seen  Velasquez  and  Murillo,  noted  critics 
assign  to  some  other  painter  than  Velasquez.  The  bad 
composition,  soft  modelling,  dry  rendering  have  always 
made  this  seem  impossible  to  be  the  work  of  the  great 
Spanish  master,  he  who,  born  in  the  same  year  as  Van 
Dyck  and  five  years  after  the  death  of  Tintoretto  and 
Correggio,  was  as  little  influenced  by  the  decadence  that 
art  in  Italy  had  fallen  into  as  he  was  by  Rubens  whose 
friendship  he  valued  highly.  Velasquez  unquestionably 
learned  much  from  the  Italians,  especially  during  his  two 
prolonged  visits  in  Italy.  But  he  was  no  more  like  Cor- 
reggio or  Titian  or  Tintoretto  than  he  was  like  Rubens. 
More  than  any  painter  that  ever  lived  Velasquez  painted 
with  absolutely  no  preconceived  ideas.  He  approached 
each  subject,  each  face,  more,  each  different  view  of 
a face,  exactly  as  if  he  had  never  seen  it  before,  much 
less  painted  it.  In  other  words,  no  painter  ever  had 
so  few  receipts.  He  had  no  “ flesh  tones,”  no  “ shadow 
colour  ” of  any  kind.  What  tone  a face  had  been  one 
day,  that  he  had  faithfully  rendered.  What  tone  it 
appeared  the  next  day,  that  he  would  faithfully  dis- 
cover and  also  faithfully  transcribe.  If  the  two  results 
were  similar,  that  was  because  in  actuality  they  were 


132 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


similar,  not  because  he  had  taken  it  for  granted  they 
would  be.  It  is  this  intense  realism,  this  candid  mind 
wholly  free  from  preconceived  ideas,  that  helps  to  make 
Velasquez  so  preeminently  a man  of  to-day.  Of  all  the 
great  world  painters,  he  is  the  one  with  whom  modern 
art  has  most  in  accord.  He  is,  as  has  been  often  said, 
the  first  real  discoverer  of  light,  of  atmosphere,  of  that 
enveloping  air  that  surrounds  every  object  we  see  and 
changes  and  varies  its  appearance  infinitesimally  or 
tremendously  as  the  conditions  may  be. 

Velasquez  is  preeminently  the  painter  of  men.  Princi- 
pally because,  except  in  royalty,  Spanish  women  were 
seldom  painted.  He  it  is  who  has  made  Philip  IV.  such 
a living  personage,  as  all  the  historians  in  the  world 
could  not  succeed  in  doing.  Who  that  has  seen  that  long, 
pale,  brooding  face,  with  its  overfull  and  overripe  lips, 
can  ever  forget  it?  No  flatterer  was  Velasquez.  He 
could  only  paint  what  his  eye  saw.  But  better  than 
flattery  he  could  so  absolutely  reproduce  the  living  image 
that  in  looking  at  his  portraits  there  are  as  many  opinions 
as  to  what  the  man  was  as  there  always  are  opinions 
concerning  a living  personage.  In  painting  the  appear- 
ance, Velasquez  painted  the  soul,  too,  so  far  as  the  soul 
could  look  out  of  the  eyes,  curve  or  tighten  the  lips,  pale 
or  flush  the  cheek,  loosen  or  clench  the  hand.  In  battle- 
scenes,  in  enormous  decorative  panels,  in  historical  com- 
positions, he  stands  as  unrivalled  as  in  portraiture.  There 
is  no  one  like  him  in  painting  the  human  figure  singly 
or  in  groups,  as  there  is  no  one  like  him  in  rendering 
the  subtility  of  light  and  atmosphere.  There  are  others, 
perhaps,  as  great.  Rembrandt,  Titian,  Giorgione,  ]\Iichel- 
angelo,  Raphael,  even  Rubens  and  Van  Dyck,  are  on 
peaks  that  reach  as  high,  perhaps  higher  than  the  summit 
where  Velasquez  rests.  But  he  is  alone,  this  Spaniard, 


(BcantJe  aalerie 


133 


on  his  own  peak,  untouched  by  the  men  before  him  or 
since. 

If  the  Louvre  has  so  little  of  this  Spaniard’s  works,  it 
has  many,  and  some  rarely  lovely  examples  of  the  art  of 
his  one  great  countryman.  This  is  because  Marshal 
Soult  robbed  Spain  of  every  canvas  he  could  lay  his 
hands  upon,  and  especially  of  everything  bearing  the 
name  of  Murillo.  No  painter,  unless  it  be  Raphael, 
has  ever  been  so  popular  with  the  public  as  Murillo. 
It  has  been  pointed  out,  with  a certain  cynical  truth  in 
the  statement,  that  this  very  popularity  is  proof  enough 
of  his  lacking  the  greatest  attributes  of  a great  painter. 
Yet,  of  course,  it  is  equally  true  that  what  is  so  univer- 
sally admired  must  have  much  more  than  the  merely 
ephemeral  or  false  about  it.  It  must  be  more  than 
simply  pleasing,  of  stronger  stuff  than  simple  graceful- 
ness. Rated  even  by  his  most  serious  detractors, 
Murillo  certainly  endures  such  tests  as  these.  Sometimes, 
indeed,  his  Madonnas  are  dangerously  near  the  wax- 
doll  confection  order,  too  often  his  angels  have  the  pink 
and  white  smoothness  of  sugar  Cupids,  frequently  his 
saints  are  nothing  but  pleasing  lay  figures.  Nevertheless, 
considering  the  enormous  quantity  of  these  Madonnas, 
angels  and  saints  Murillo  had  to  turn  out  every  year, 
it  is  only  surprising  that  such  failures  are  not  continually 
recurring,  instead  of  once  in  awhile.  Eliminate  all  that 
does  not  reach  his  own  highest,  and  the  residuum  is 
found  to  be,  if  not  the  highest  in  art,  at  least  full  of 
beauty,  of  power  to  charm,  of  nobility  and  of  poetic  piety. 

Murillo  never  went  to  Italy,  and  he  never  could  have 
seen  many  of  the  great  works  of  Italy  or  Greece.  The 
influence  upon  him  of  the  antique  was  only  what  came  to 
him  sifted  through  the  works  of  Rubens,  Van  Dyck, 
Velasquez  or  such  Italian  pictures  as  his  short  stay  in 


134 


XTbe  Brt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


Madrid  gave  him  an  opportunity  to  see.  He  is  a product 
of  Spanish  soil  far  more  truly  than  Velasquez  or  Ribera. 
And  his  chief  greatness,  as  critics  have  intimated,  is, 
perhaps,  his  truthful  rendering  of  Spanish  life,  charac- 
teristics and  people.  His  Madonnas,  saints  and  angels 
are  all  as  truly  and  distinctively  Spanish  as  are  his 
beggar  boys.  As  a religious  painter  he  does  not  touch 
the  soul  as  do  some  few  of  the  early  Italians.  But  he 
is  far  over  the  head  of  any  seventeenth-century  Italian, 
and  no  one  since  has  approached  him.  As  a technician, 
he  had  a facile,  flowing  touch,  a broad,  full  brush,  a 
colour  glowing,  roseate,  at  times  degenerating  into  the 
pretty,  but  at  its  best  full  of  a translucence,  a light,  an 
atmosphere,  that  makes  one  understand  why  he  has 
been  said  to  paint  as  the  birds  sing.  His  drawing  was 
not  remarkable  for  power,  strength  or  individuality. 
Adequate  it  generally  was,  and  of  the  kind,  so  much  the 
worse  for  its  enduring  fame,  to  appeal  to  the  uninstructed. 
In  composition  he  often  was  far  beyond  the  merely  ex- 
cellent, showing  at  times  a marvellous  fitting  of  tone, 
lighting,  line  and  colour,  in  one  grand  ensemble. 

The  Holy  Family,  in  Bay  D,  is  one  of  Murillo’s  noted 
works,  and  is  sometimes  called  La  Vierge  de  Seville. 
Mary  sits  on  a rock  on  the  shore,  holding  on  her  knees 
the  baby  Christ  who  stands  upright,  one  hand  at  his 
mother’s  neck,  the  other  taking  a long  reed  cross  from  the 
little  St.  John.  Elizabeth  is  kneeling  and  holds  her 
arms  about  her  boy  in  his  tunic  of  skins.  Above  in 
the  clouds  in  the  middle  of  “ exceeding  light,”  God  is 
seen  with  outspread  hands  as  if  in  blessing.  With  him 
are  a number  of  cherubs  in  all  sorts  of  difficult,  fore- 
shortened positions.  Immediately  over  the  head  of  Jesus 
the  Holy  Spirit  in  the  shape  of  a dove  is  hovering.  In 
the  direct  foreground  a lamb  is  lying,  looking  up  at 


Grange  Galerie 


*35 


John.  Both  Mary  and  Elizabeth  are  very  beautiful 
types.  Mary,  in  her  young  perfection,  with  the  soft  dark 
hair  that  grows  so  tenderly  on  her  forehead,  with  her 
finely  curved  lips,  her  exquisite  chin  and  dark,  uplifted 
eyes,  is  a true  Murillo  creation.  She  holds  Jesus  with 
an  adoring  pressure  that  yet  intimates  a certain  aloofness, 
as  if  she  dared  not  bring  him  closer.  Elizabeth  is 
wrinkled,  somewhat  worn  by  years,  but  her  noble  pro- 
file is  charged  with  an  intense  earnestness  and  reverent 
gladness  that  gives  it  a distinction  uncommon  among  the 
pictures  of  the  mothers  of  the  Baptist.  The  two  children 
are  lovely  in  colour  and  Jesus  especially  has  a firm, 
perfect  little  body.  But  it  is  the  two  women  who  show 
the  painter  at  his  best. 

The  Birth  of  the  Virgin  was  painted  about  1655  for 
the  cathedral  at  Seville,  and  is  called  in  Murillo’s  calido 
or  intermediate  manner.  To  quote  Gautier,  “ In  the 
centre  of  the  composition  like  a bouquet  of  flowers 
lighted  by  a ray  of  the  sun,  the  baby  Virgin  swims,  as  it 
were,  in  a cloud  of  light.  Ah  old  woman,  the  tia  as  the 
Spanish  call  her,  raises  the  child  from  its  cradle  with  a 
caressing  gesture.  In  the  foreground  a girl,  clad  in  a 
lilac,  tender  green  and  straw-coloured  robe,  leans  forward 
curiously,  resting  on  a beautiful  white  arm,  satin-like  in 
its  texture  and  dimpled  at  the  rosy  elbow.  But  the  most 
marvellous  figure  in  this  group  is  the  young  angel, 
modelled,  as  it  seems,  from  nothing,  — a rose-coloured 
vapour  touched  with  silver.  She  leans  her  adorable  head, 
made  with  three  brief  brush-strokes,  over  the  Virgin, 
resting  one  delicate  hand  on  her  breast,  the  fingers 
nestling  among  the  folds  of  her  dress  as  if  in  the  petals 
of  a flower.  Above  the  cradle  of  the  Virgin  a hovering 
glory  of  angels  illumines  the  room  like  a glowing  smoke. 
Half-hidden  in  the  shadow  of  the  background  the  bed 


136 


Ubc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


of  the  mother  may  be  vaguely  distinguished.  It  is  im- 
possible to  imagine  anything  more  fresh,  more  tender, 
more  lovely  than  this  picture.” 

The  Virgin  and  Child  with  Rosary  is  probably  an 
early  work  of  Murillo,  though  some  have  been  inclined 
to  doubt  whether  he  ever  painted  it  at  all.  It  is  hard  and 
rather  unsympathetic  in  colour,  but  has  in  spite  of 
its  faults  a charm  that  Murillo  always  gave  to  his  dark- 
eyed Madonnas  and  rosy  Christ-babies. 

The  Miracle  of  San  Diego  is  also  an  early  work  painted 
for  the  Convent  of  San  Francisco,  along  with  ten  others. 
The  convent  was  plundered  by  the  French,  and  this  was 
one  that  Marshal  Soult  took  for  himself.  His  heirs 
sold  it  to  the  government  for  85,500  francs.  It  has  been 
repainted  and  restored.  The  subtitle  by  which  it  is 
known,  The  Kitchen  of  the  Angels,  explains  the  sort  of 
miracle  which  it  glorifies.  More  than  half  of  the  long  low 
panel  is  filled  with  heavenly  visitants  who  are  at  work 
getting  a feast  for  the  monks.  The  two  largest  and  most 
important  angels  stand  talking  together  in  the  very 
centre  of  the  scene.  One  holds  a big  stone  jug,  the 
other  is  apparently  giving  directions.  These  t\\'o  are 
very  lovely  creations,  hardly  excelled  in  delicate  beauty 
and  ethereal  loveliness  by  Raphael’s  angels  in  Jacob’s 
Vision.  Immediately  at  the  left  of  them  is  the  saint, 
lifted  up  in  the  air  by  his  devout  prayers,  begging  for  the 
food  which  even  now  is  being  prepared  for  him.  At 
the  extreme  left  another  brother  opens  a door,  bringing 
in  two  cavaliers.  At  the  right  are  the  rest  of  the  angel 
cooks,  mostly  small  cherubs.  Their  absorption  and 
interest  in  their  mundane  tasks  are  both  amusing  and 
touching. 

The  Young  Beggar  is  a ragged  boy  sitting  in  a sort  of 
stone  loft,  lighted  by  one  deep-set  window  at  the  left. 


6ran&e  (Balerie 


137 


He  is  in  tatters  and  has  just  pulled  his  shirt  open  while 
he  hunts  for  fleas.  If  this  is  not  quite  equal  to  some  of 
Murillo’s  beggar  boys  in  Munich,  the  lighting  is  re- 
markably fine.  The  sunbeam  that  strays  through  the 
window,  and  falls  upon  the  stretched  out  boy,  is  warm, 
brilliant,  sharp. 

Two  portraits  by  Goya  practically  finish  the  more 
important  of  the  Spanish  pictures.  The  Portrait  of  M. 
de  F.  G'uillemardet,  Ambassador  of  France  to  Spain  in 
1798  shows  him  seated  in  profile  before  a table,  turning 
round,  with  his  right  arm  thrown  across  the  back  of  his 
chair.  His  face  is  in  three-quarters  position  his  right 
hand  is  bent,  and  rests  palm  up  on  his  right  leg  which 
he  has  thrown  over  the  other.  He  wears  his  official 
costume  of  blue,  with  a sword  and  a sash  of  the  tri- 
colour about  his  waist.  On  the  table  behind  him  is  his 
three-cornered  hat  with  the  national  colours.  The  man’s 
eyes  are  large  and  he  has  a frank  expression  and  fine, 
strong  features.  The  position  is  extremely  natural, 
caught,  it  seems  as  he  turned  to  answer  a question.  The 
figure  is  well  drawn,  which  Goya  frequently  made  no 
pretence  of  attempting,  and  a French  critic  has  said  of 
it  that  in  no  other  picture  have  the  national  colours  been 
so  pictorially  treated,  or  made  such  an  integral  part  of 
the  composition. 

The  Young  Spanish  Girl  stands  in  the  centre  of  a land- 
scape, dressed  in  black  with  a black  mantle,  a knot  of 
rose  in  her  hair.  With  arms  crossed  at  her  waist,  she  is 
in  three-quarters  view,  turned  toward  the  right.  Her 
head  is  thrown  proudly  back  emphasizing  still  more 
strongly  her  extreme  height. 

In  1799  the  painter  of  these  two  canvases  was  made 
private  painter  to  Charles  IV.  Though  much  of  his  life 
was  spent  at  the  court  of  Spain,  he  did  not  hesitate  to 


138 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


advocate  the  most  revolutionary  doctrines,  nor  to  scoff 
or  revile  court  or  king  whenever  the  mood  seized  him. 
Most  of  his  work  may  be  called  little  but  illustrations 
for  his  democratic  and  revolutionary  beliefs  and  it  has 
been  suggested  by  Mr.  Hamerton  that  the  great  French 
regard  for  his  works,  at  its  last  analysis,  is  more  admira- 
tion for  these  opinions  than  for  his  works  themselves. 
Whether  this  be  true  or  not  he  had  an  immense  influence 
on  French  art,  Delacroix  especially  falling  greatly  under 
his  sway.  There  is  no  doubt  that  Goya’s  draughtsman- 
ship was  frequently  outrageous  and  his  colour  even 
worse.  He  was  as  reckless  and  sinful  with  his  brush  as 
he  was  with  his  life.  But  he  certainly  accomplished  some 
remarkably  fine  work,  clear,  fresh,  vigorous,  original, 
full  of  life,  power  and  passion.  And  since  him  Spain 
has  had  no  painter  to  recall  even  dimly  the  halcyon 
days  of  her  one  great  art  period. 

In  this  same  bay  are  the  few  English  pictures  owned 
by  the  Louvre.  There  is  scarcely  one  among  them  that 
adequately  represents  the  school,  and  any  extended 
notice  of  them  is  more  to  call  attention  to  the  position 
their  painters  really  hold  in  the  history  of  art  than  to 
the  individual  pictures  which  so  poorly  represent  them 
here. 

Richard  Wilson,  who  may  be  called  the  father  of 
English  landscape  art  and,  who,  though  his  English  public 
absolutely  ignored  him,  prepared  the  way  for  Constable, 
has  one  little  canvas  in  Bay  D which  was  acquired  in 
1895.  It  is  “ more  fat,”  says  M.  Alexandre,  “ in  exe- 
cution than  the  landscapes  by  Vernet,  and  has  a decided 
transparence  of  air  and  light.” 

Romney,  the  impetuous,  the  fluctuating,  the  ardent 
lover,  the  neglectful  husband,  the  enthusiastic  beginner, 
the  dilatory  finisher,  Romney,  who  had  grace,  esprit,  a 


6ran&e  ©alede 


139 


true  painter’s  brush,  who  was  without  training  and  who 
did  much  bad  work  and  an  occasional  gem  like  the 
Parson’s  Daughter,  has  one  mediocre  portrait,  Sir 
Stanley. 

Sir  William  Beechey,  who  was  a pupil  of  Reynolds  and 
in  his  day  an  eminent  portrait-painter,  though  he  never 
approached  his  master,  has  one  picture  in  the  Louvre, 
that,  possessed  of  only  fair  merit,  has  a certain  sort  of 
unconscious  grace.  It  is  a portrait  of  a Brother  and 
Sister.  The  two  children  are  in  a park,  the  brother  at 
the  left,  sitting  on  the  pedestal  of  a large  vase,  placing 
his  sister’s  broad,  flower-decked  hat  on  her  head.  She 
stands  beside  him,  holding  up  her  white  skirt  within 
whose  folds  she  keeps  more  of  the  blooms.  The  boy  has 
turned  his  face  to  the  left  as  has  the  small  dog  at  his 
feet.  He  is  dressed  in  garnet,  with  a wide  lace  collar. 
In  the  distance  are  a river  and  clusters  of  trees,  and 
back  of  the  vase,  the  conventional  red  curtain. 

The  Portrait  of  a Disabled  Sailor,  by  Raeburn,  the 
Frans  Hals  of  England,  is  a far  better  piece  of  work 
than  any  of  the  pictures  so  far  mentioned.  Raeburn 
can  only  be  seen  to  advantage  in  Edinburgh,  for  he 
was  really  a Scotchman,  though  called  English.  He  was 
a wonderful  manipulator.  The  freedom,  fulness,  plastic 
quality  of  his  brush-work  is  quite  equal  to  Erans  Hals. 
The  canvas  here  is  only  an  average  piece  of  work  for  him 
but  even  so  it  is  a remarkable  portrait,  and  Chesneau 
says  that  it  is  painted  with  not  only  great  vigour  but 
shows  a fineness  in  its  interpretative  quality  and  a 
spirit  that  is  rare  in  any  portrait.  The  heavy,  stolid  flesh, 
with  its  Saxon-toned,  flesh  browned,  reddened,  roughened 
and  hardened  by  the  winds  and  waves,  with  its  red  nose 
showing  the  effect  of  gin  possibly,  as  well  as  the  elements, 
emphasized  by  the  bleared  eyes  which  nevertheless  re- 


140 


XEbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


gard  you  coolly  and  sharply,  all  speak  the  master-hand 
that  held  the  brush. 

A Portrait  of  a Woman  by  Hoppner  is  clear  and 
pleasing.  It  shows  her  dressed  in  white  with  a land- 
scape background.  Hoppner  was  a disciple  of  Reynolds 
and  a great  rival  of  Lawrence.  His  portraits  of  men  are 
frequently  wonderful  in  directness,  simplicity  and 
dignity.  His  women  are  usually  so  flattered  that  they 
have  little  individuality  or  even  personality. 

The  Portrait  of  a Woman  in  White  by  Opie  is  not  a 
very  good  specimen  of  his  style,  but  has  the  solidity  and 
truth  for  which  Opie  was  noted  and  is  painted  in  a 
full,  large  way.  If  lacking  in  a certain  beauty  of  finish 
and  refinement,  it  has  a sincerity  and  unaffectedness  that 
show  the  brush  that  painted  it  to  be  vigorous  and  sure. 
She  is  sitting  in  a park,  her  body  turned  three-quarters 
to  the  left,  her  face  looking  to  the  right.  Her  white 
dress  has  short  sleeves  and  across  her  breast  and  about 
her  waist  is  a piece  of  blue  embroidery.  A straw  hat 
lined  with  mauve-coloured  silk  is  on  her  brown  tresses, 
with  the  ribbons  flying  over  her  bare  shoulders. 

Another  fair  example  of  its  creator’s  brush  is  jMor- 
land’s  Halt.  It  is  of  much  browner,  heavier  tone  than  his 
finest  work,  but  is  a good  bit  of  composition  and  is  well 
spotted  in  its  colour-scheme.  Two  travellers  have  stopped 
at  a thatched  inn  door.  One  is  still  on  his  white  horse, 
and  has  taken  a bowl  from  a gay  country  lass  who 
stands  beside  him.  In  front  is  the  horse  of  the  other 
traveller  who  has  dismounted  and  is  seated  on  the 
ground  before  a low  window  of  a cobbler’s  shop.  He 
holds  a pot  of  beer  in  his  hand  and  is  talking  to  the  man 
whose  head  is  seen  within  the  gloom  of  the  shop. 

Morland  was  one  of  the  most  popular  of  English 
artists.  This  popularity  is  largely  because  of  his  skill 


6ran&e  Galerie 


141 

as  a story-teller.  His  ability  in  this  direction  blinded  the 
eyes  of  his  public  to  his  faults  in  drawing  and  his  lack 
of  knowledge  of  anatomy. 

The  Portrait  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Angerstein  by  Sir 
Thomas  Lawrence  is  in  the  painter’s  happiest  manner 
and  seems  to  have  been  painted  con  amore,  which  was 
only  seemly,  for  Mr.  Angerstein  was  one  of  the  men 
to  whom  Lawrence  was  greatly  indebted  both  for 
patronage  and  gifts.  It  represents  Mr.  Angerstein  stand- 
ing at  the  left,  his  face  turned  to  his  wife  who,  seated 
beside  him,  is  looking  and  smiling  at  him.  His  left  hand 
rests  on  the  back  of  her  chair  and  they  are  on  a balcony, 
the  wall  forming  part  of  the  background,  trees  and  a 
distant  landscape  the  rest.  Mr.  Angerstein  wears  a bril- 
liant scarlet  coat  and  appears  about  sixty  years  old. 
His  wife,  who  was  the  second  Mrs.  Angerstein,  is  in 
white,  the  texture  of  the  dress  recalling  in  its  handling 
Ter  Borch  or  Van  der  Heist. 

The  cleverness  felt  in  this  picture  is  the  chief  charac- 
teristic of  this  Englishman  who  had  his  world  at  his  feet 
from  the  time  when,  a prodigy  of  five  years  old,  he  was 
already  painting  portraits  for  money.  Yet  he  was  less 
great  than  his  country  believed  him.  He  had  a way  of 
omitting  disagreeables,  of  emphasizing  pleasing  attri- 
butes, of  giving  his  sitters  an  air  of  courtly  grace,  while 
he  very  seldom  bothered  his  head  to  suggest  what  might 
be  below  the  soft  flesh,  the  easy  pose,  the  graceful  car- 
riage. There  are  portraits  of  his,  to  be  sure,  that  are 
natural,  earnest,  unaffected,  even  virile,  direct  and  con- 
tained. But  most  of  these  date  from  before  he  was  thirty, 
before  society  began  to  crowd  upon  him  till  he  had  neither 
time  nor  chance  to  hold  to  sincerity.  As  a technician  he 
had  undoubtedly  skill,  and  executed  with  more  of  the 


142 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


“ know  how  ” than  most  of  his  English  brethren.  At  its 
best  his  style  is  that  of  Reynolds. 

A very  different  personality  was  John  Constable  and 
a very  different  aim  had  the  man  who,  though  perhaps 
indebted  to  Wilson  for  some  of  the  principles  of  his 
art,  may  in  truth  be  called  the  founder  of  modern  land- 
scape art.  It  has  been  claimed  that  it  is  to  Constable 
that  France  owes  her  naturalistic,  her  realistic,  her  im- 
pressionistic schools  of  painting.  Beginning  with  Dela- 
croix, the  instigator  of  the  so-called  romantic  movement, 
France  appreciated  and  applauded  the  English  landscape- 
painter  before  his  own  country  had  learned  to  value 
him.  Light,  real  out-of-doors  light,  air,  the  real  atmos- 
phere of  woods,  of  meadows,  of  ocean  side ; colour,  real 
outdoors  colour,  or  at  least  something  vastly  nearer  it 
than  anything  the  studio  painters  had  ever  expressed 
with  their  interminable  browns  and  olives  and  opaque 
greens  ; movement,  the  movement  of  wave,  and  cloud,  — 
these  were  the  things  Constable  endeavoured  to  paint. 
N|ot  till  his  death  did  England  appreciate  him.  Un- 
doubtedly the  extravagant  claims  that  have  been  made 
concerning  his  influence  over  modern,  especially  French 
art,  are  exaggerated.  He  was  no  such  tremendous  inno- 
vator as  has  been  described.  Impetus,  however,  he  cer- 
tainly did  give  to  the  just  beginning  movement  to  see 
things  as  they  are  and  to  paint  them  as  one  sees  them. 
It  is  not  at  the  Louvre  where  he  can  be  known.  The 
pictures  there  are  all  heavy,  and  lack  life  and  freshness 
compared  to  his  best  work. 

The  Rainbow  is  an  autunm  landscape,  with  the  tower 
of  Salisbury  seen  among  the  splendid  trees,  reddened 
by  the  touch  of  fall.  It  is  a little  sketch  with  a stormy, 
heavily-clouded  sky. 

The  Bay  of  Weymouth  at  the  Approach  of  the  Storm, 


Grange  (Balede 


143 


is  the  best  of  the  lot.  The  sea  is  tumultuous,  yet  with 
a sort  of  leaden  calmness  about  it.  It  is  the  ominous 
pause  just  before  the  storm  strikes.  The  sky  is  full  of 
rushing,  tumbling  clouds,  pressing  down  to  the  tops 
of  the  low  hills  at  the  right.  On  the  rock-strewn  hills  is 
a woman  scurrying  from  the  storm,  and  farther  off  a 
shepherd  with  his  dog  gathers  the  flock  and  drives  them 
into  the  interior. 

Bonington,  who  is  much  more  of  a Frenchman  than  an 
Englishman  is  represented  by  a number  of  pictures,  all 
of  which,  as  well  as  all  he  left  when  he  died  at  the  age 
of  twenty-seven,  are  in  the  nature  of  studies,  rather  than 
finished  works.  He  had  undoubted  talent,  and  if  he  had 
lived  longer  would  probably  have  won  a high  place  on  the 
list  of  fame. 

In  Frangois  I.  and  the  Duchess  d‘Etampes,  the  duchess 
is  sitting  in  a huge,  upholstered  chair,  with  her  left  hand 
resting  on  the  arm  and  playing  with  a hound  standing 
beside  her.  She  wears  a yellow  silk,  square-cut  decollete 
gown  with  wide  lace  undersleeves.  Her  brown  hair 
banded  across  her  forehead,  falls  down  her  neck  loosely. 
By  her  side  at  the  right,  stands  enormous-nosed  Fran- 
gois,  most  gorgeously  apparelled,  and  with  him  Charles 
V.,  only  less  royally  arrayed.  There  is  another  Frangois 
by  Bonington  in  a private  collection  in  England  which 
critics  accord  higher  praise  than  they  do  to  this. 

The  collection  of  German  pictures  in  the  Louvre  is 
not  much  more  satisfactory  than  the  English  or  Spanish. 
Like  Spain,  Germany  has  only  two  giants  on  her  roll 
of  painters,  and  of  these  two  only  one  has  a fair  showing 
here.  Durer,  the  first  German  painter  worthy  the  name, 
was  born  in  1471.  Before  him,  one  can  truly  say  there 
was  no  art  in  Germany.  And  with  the  exception  of 
Holbein  it  is  equally  true  to  say  that  no  other  German 


144 


XCbe  Hrt  ot  tbe  Xouvre 


painter  has  since  arisen  anywhere  near  approaching  him. 
In  spite  of  his  four  years  of  travel  Diirer  was  always  and 
distinctly  German.  To  us  of  to-day  imbued  as  we  all 
are,  whether  consciously  or  unconsciously,  with  the 
Italian  ideals  of  art,  Diirer’s  lack  of  beauty,  his  accentua- 
tion of  line,  his  struggle  to  express  anatomical  truths, 
make  him  seem  at  times  almost  archaic.  Yet  even  the 
great  Venetians  had  unbounded  admiration  for  and 
appreciation  of  his  gifts.  As  he  went  on,  too,  some  of 
the  angularities  of  line,  the  hardness  of  drapery  and  the 
rigidity  of  form,  that  were  a part  of  his  German  train- 
ing, disappeared.  Sidney  Colvin,  in  the  Encyclopaedia 
Britannica,  says  most  admirably  of  Diirer : “ All  the 
qualities  of  his  art,  — its  combination  of  the  wild  and 
rugged  with  the  homely  and  tender,  its  meditative  depth, 
its  enigmatic  gloom,  its  sincerity  and  energy,  its  iron 
diligence  and  discipline,  — all  these  are  qualities  of  the 
German  spirit.  . . . He  has  every  gift  except  the  Greek 
and  Italian  of  beauty  and  ideal  grace.  In  religious  paint- 
ing he  has  profound  earnestness  and  humanity  and  an  in- 
exhaustible dramatic  invention ; and  the  accessory  land- 
scape and  scenery  of  his  compositions  are  more  richly 
conceived  and  better  studied  than  by  any  painter  before 
him.  In  portraiture  he  is  equally  master  of  the  soul  and 
bod)%  rendering  every  detail  of  the  human  superficies 
with  a microscopic  fidelity,  which  nevertheless  does  not 
encumber  nor  overlay  the  essential  and  inner  character 
of  the  person  represented.” 

His  two  pictures  in  the  Louvre  are  both  portraits,  one 
of  a young  boy,  the  other  an  old  man.  Tlie  latter  as- 
suredly must  have  been  an  unusually  successful  por- 
trait for  even  the  great  Diirer.  There  is  a directness  of 
regard,  a light  in  the  eye,  a subtle  feeling  of  momentary 
action  in  the  delicately  closed  lips,  a quick  pressure  for- 


(5rant>e  ©alerie 


145 


ward  to  the  head,  all  suggesting  a reproduction  of  a 
very  live  moment;  suggesting  too,  such  a vivid  sensa- 
tion of  movement,  that  it  seems  as  if  the  eyes  must 
actually  turn,  the  head  tip  back,  the  mouth  open  to  speak. 
The  portrait  is  labelled  “ An  Old  Man,”  and  the  beard 
that  grows  from  under  the  chin  is  white,  as  well  as  the 
stray  locks  of  hair  that  escape  from  the  close,  horned,  red 
cap.  But  the  features,  the  expression,  the  light  in  the 
eyes,  are  those  of  a man  hardly  middle-aged.  Intelligence, 
quickness,  keenness  and  good  humour  are  mingled  in  the 
face.  The  drawing  and  miodelling  are  masterly,  but  it 
is  the  personality  of  the  sitter  that  attracts  one  most. 

No  one  of  the  four  pictures  by  Cranach  is  among  that 
painter’s  more  important  works,  but  the  Portrait  of 
John  Frederick  III.  is  a very  good  example  of  his  style. 
Even  better  is  the  Portrait  of  an  Unknown  Man  that 
has  been  said  to  be  Frederick  of  Saxony,  though  it  is 
doubtful  if  it  is  he.  Whoever  he  is,  it  is  a striking  por- 
trait full  of  realistic  attributes  and  painted  with  a 
faithfulness  that  presupposes  a likeness.  He  is  shown 
with  a broad  flat  hat  ornamented  with  feathers  and 
jewels  and  a fur-bordered  robe  opening  over  an  elaborate 
sort  of  shirt.  He  is  turned  three-quarters  to  the  right, 
and  has  a broad  brown  beard,  and  delicately  outlined 
moustache  leaving  entirely  free  a Cupid-bow  mouth. 
His  sharply-lined  eyebrows  curve  slightly  over  a pair  of 
sleepy  eyes.  About  his  neck  is  a heavy  chain  wound 
four  times  and  ending  in  a dragon-shaped  ornament. 
This  falls  over  the  shirt  of  puffed  white  stuff  which  is 
trimmed  with  rose-coloured  bands  embroidered  with 
pearls  in  the  shape  of  big  S’s.  The  picture  is  cut  off  at 
his  waist,  allowing  only  part  of  his  two  fat  hands  to 
show.  On  the  forefinger  of  his  left  hand  is  a jewelled 
ring.  There  is  no  sign  in  this  fleshy,  rather  stupid-look- 


146 


Xlbe  Hrt  of  the  Xouvre 


ing  German  gentleman,  of  the  thin  forms,  and  scragg}' 
muscles  in  which  Cranach’s  nude  figures  abound.  The 
careful  drawing  of  certain  of  the  features  is  the  more 
remarkable  considering  how  badly  some  of  the  parts 
go  together. 

His  Venus  in  a Landscape  is  one  of  his  characteristic 
Venus  pictures.  She  is  in  a garden  walking,  turned 
three-quarters  to  the  left,  and  is  nude  save  for  a big  red 
cap  on  her  long  blond  tresses  and  a rich  collar  around 
her  neck.  In  her  hand  she  carries  a gauzy  scarf.  One 
of  the  amusing  features  of  Cranach’s  Venuses  is  that 
they  are  very  often  fully  arrayed  as  to  head-dress  if 
otherwise  quite  unadorned ! At  the  left  is  a clump  of 
trees,  and  in  the  distance  at  the  foot  of  a mountain  a 
village,  whose  houses  are  reflected  in  a river. 

Cranach,  only  a year  younger  than  Diirer,  who  some- 
what influenced  his  style,  ranks  far  below  both  him  and 
Holbein,  principally  because  he  was  so  much  poorer  as 
a draughtsman  than  either  of  these  two.  His  portraits 
are  his  best  works.  About  all  he  did  there  was  a certain 
sinuous  grace  if  not  truth  of  line,  an  ingenuousness  that 
at  times  was  positive  bashfulness,  and  a kind  of  sweet- 
ness that  was  homely  in  its  intimate  expression.  Like  all 
the  early  German  painters  his  idea  of  beauty  of  form 
consisted  in  what  the  Italians  would  have  considered 
most  decided  examples  of  malformation.  His  lank}’, 
thin-hipped,  undeveloped,  backfisch  sort  of  women  were 
equally  far  removed  from  the  corpulent  Hausfraiis  of  the 
Dutch  and  Flemish  painters.  Yet  there  is  a charm,  a 
pristine  freshness  about  his  Venuses  and  Eves  that  give 
them  individuality  and  real  power.  His  colour  was  at 
first  very  brown  and  yellow,  afterward  he  secured  a more 
rosy  tone.  He  was  the  painter  of  the  Reformation,  the 
great  friend  of  Luther  and  Melanchthon,  and  was  one  of 


(3ranbe  (Balerie 


147 


the  two  partners  of  the  first  printing-press  at  Wittenberg. 
He  is  said  to  have  brought  about  Luther’s  marriage  to 
Catherine  Bora.  He  was  so  rapid  a painter,  and  in  the 
course  of  his  long  life  produced  so  much,  that  he  was 
called  on  his  gravestone,  the  “ celerrimus  pictor.” 

Holbein,  the  second  of  Germany’s  two  giants  of  the 
Renaissance,  in  one  respect  at  least  ranks  above  those  who 
in  other  ways  are  far  greater  than  he.  Above  Titian, 
above  Van  Dyck,  he  stands  as  a portrait-painter.  These 
two  painted  men  as  they  behave  or  as  they  seem.  “ Hol- 
bein depicts  men  as  they  are.”  He  had  that  rare  quality 
of  being  able  to  eliminate  himself  entirely  when  he 
painted  a portrait.  His  likenesses  are  as  diverse  as  men 
actually  are  in  outward  seeming,  and  much  more,  — 
they  are  as  diverse  in  what  they  suggest  as  to  their  real 
characters  and  lives.  Holbein  painted  ruthlessly,  so 
clearly  did  he  see  and  portray  the  soul  beneath  the  mask 
of  flesh.  Far  above  his  German  contemporaries  in  his 
knowledge  of  anatomy,  perspective  and  modelling,  he 
keeps  their  scrupulous  regard  for  truth  of  detail  and 
accessory.  But  never  does  this  faithful  drawing  of  fur, 
or  brocade  or  golden  ornaments  or  figured  backgrounds 
make  him  forget  the  truth  of  the  thing  as  a whole.  It  is 
an  ensemble  that  Holbein  always  achieves  and  an  en- 
semble where  the  soul  of  the  man  or  woman  portrayed 
is  the  central  point  of  focus. 

His  inability  to  flatter  his  sitter  was  seldom  more 
strikingly  displayed  than  in  the  Portrait  of  Anne  of 
Qeves,  fourth  wife  of  Henry  VIH.  Stiff,  stolid,  square 
and  stupid,  seem  the  most  appropriate  words  to  describe 
the  woman  depicted.  A more  right-angled  sort  of  por- 
trait than  this  he  surely  never  drew.  He  painted  the 
portrait,  it  is  said,  before  Anne  became  queen,  and  not 
long  after  Cromwell  had  secured  the  king’s  consent  to 


148 


Zbc  Hrt  ot  tbe  OLouvre 


the  alliance  with  this  Protestant  German  princess.  She 
is  standing  in  full  face,  with  her  hands  crossed  exactly 
in  front,  a little  below  her  waist.  On  her  head  is  a 
transparent  cap,  and  over  it  a head-dress  loaded  with 
pearls  and  cut  stones.  The  two  sides  of  this  elaborate 
head-gear  are  almost  precisely  identical  in  outline,  even 
the  thin  muslin  border  falling  into  mathematical  exact- 
ness of  fold.  Her  dress  is  of  crimson  velvet,  with 
enormous  draped  sleeves  and  smooth  tight  skirt,  trimmed 
with  bands  of  gold  embroidered  with  pearls.  The  square 
opening  at  the  chest  is  filled  in  with  folds  of  linen,  over  it 
falling  several  chains  of  gold  and  precious  stones.  On 
her  fingers  are  a number  of  rings,  one  even  surrounding 
her  thumb.  The  background  is  green,  the  flesh-tones 
somewhat  reddish.  The  colouring  of  the  whole  thing, 
like  everything  that  Holbein  touched  is  full  of  life  and 
originality.  It  is  painted  on  parchment  affixed  to  a 
wooden  panel. 

The  Portrait  of  Richard  Warham,  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury  is  a replica  of  the  one  in  Lambeth  House, 
which  is  probably  the  original  work,  though  this  in  the 
Louvre  is  undoubtedly  by  Holbein’s  own  hand.  It  is  life- 
sized,,and  of  it  Herr  Woltmann  says;  “The  grandeur 
and  severeness  of  conception,  the  plastic  feeling  and  the 
whole  simplicity  cannot  be  sufficiently  admired.  . . . Not 
merely  is  the  head  characteristic  and  full  of  individuality, 
but  also  the  hands  of  the  old  gentleman  which  are  resting 
on  the  gold  brocaded  cushion.”  He  stands  in  three- 
quarters  position,  facing  toward  the  left,  his  head  pushed 
a little  forward,  giving  the  impression  of  rounded  shoul- 
ders. The  close  black  cap  that  allows  only  a line  of 
his  gray  hair  to  show  below,  has  ear-flaps  meeting  the 
broad  fur  band  that  goes  about  his  neck  and  falls  down 
over  his  white  surplice  in  front.  Behind  him  on  a high 


PORTRAIT  OF  RICHARD  WARHAM,  ARCHBISHOP  OF  CAXTERBURV 

By  Holbein 


Grange  (Balerie 


149 


stand  are  his  mitre  and  some  books  and  on  the  other 
side  a gorgeous  cross  in  gold  and  jewels  carried  to  such  a 
degree  of  finish  as  Jan  Van  Eyck  himself  would  have 
admired.  The  background  is  green. 

Holbein  painted  the  Portrait  of  Nicholas  Katzer  about 
1528.  It  is  one  of  the  best  examples  of  his  best  manner 
in  the  Louvre.  The  portrait  is  life-size,  half  length.  He 
is  sitting  at  a table  turning  toward  the  right,  the  light 
flowing  full  over  his  face,  characteristic  of  Holbein,  who 
loved  best  to  paint  faces  in  clear  light.  On  his  head  is 
a full  black  cap  and  over  his  black  coat  falls  a brown  outer 
robe.  These  open  at  the  neck  sufficiently  to  show  a bit 
of  white  ruff  and  the  edge  of  a red  waistcoat.  His 
hands,  which  rest  on  the  table  before  him,  have  a poly- 
hedron in  one  and  a pair  of  compasses  in  the  other. 
Lying  about  are  various  astronomical  instruments  of  his 
profession,  and  on  the  wall  are  others.  The  face  is 
extremely  interesting  with  its  large  nose,  its  rather 
drooping  lids,  its  wide  thin  mouth,  its  square  chin.  If 
not  exactly  beautiful  it  has  a strongly  intelligent  look 
joined  to  gentleness  of  expression.  He  is  the  man,  who, 
when  the  king  asked  him  why  he  had  not  learned 
English  during  his  long  stay  in  England,  remarked, 
“ Pardon,  your  Majesty,  how  can  a man  learn  English 
in  thirty  years  ? ” 

Erasmus  is  one  of  Holbein’s  most  celebrated  por- 
traits, partly  on  account  of  the  subject,  partly  because 
of  its  intimate  expression  of  character  and  for  its  sub- 
tlety of  line.  The  great  Dutch  thinker  is  seated  in 
profile,  facing  the  left,  writing  on  a paper  something 
which  he  is  copying  from  the  book  held  open  by  his  left 
hand.  Dressed  in  black,  with  the  black  cap  whose  side 
pieces  nearly  cover  his  ears  and  hair,  it  is  the  face  and 
hands  alone  which  convey  the  tremendous  impression 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


150 

of  personality.  The  outline  of  that  fine,  firm  profile  is 
fairly  insistent  with  life,  a life  that  is  wholly  inner,  how- 
ever, and  whose  repression  is  clearly  shown  in  those 
drawn,  cautious  lips,  in  that  shaded  eye.  Almost  as  full 
of  spirit-portrayal  are  the  smooth,  scholarly  hands,  too 
delicate  and  too  fond  of  luxury  to  be  the  hands  of  a 
martyr,  but  preeminently  the  hands  of  a thinker,  a man  of 
deep  culture. 

The  two  Biblical  pictures  of  Elsheimer,  who  was  born 
nearly  eighty  years  after  Holbein,  are  in  his  usual  style, 
sadly  inadequate  after  such  work  as  the  man  of  Augsburg 
achieved.  They  are  small  canvases,  of  realistic  character 
and  with  a warmness  in  the  tone  that  at  times  suggests 
Rembrandt.  His  colour  was  of  good  body  and  he  paid 
the  most  careful  attention  to  truth  of  detail. 

The  Death  of  Adonis  by  Rottenhammer  reminds  one 
of  Tintoretto  in  “ force,  warmth  and  clearness,  but  unfor- 
tunately he  adopted,”  as  well,  the  “ Venetian  master’s 
arbitrary  and  confused  arrangement  of  lines.”  At  the 
left  Venus  is  falling  into  the  arms  of  a nymph  while  at 
her  feet  supported  by  another  nymph  Adonis  expires.  A 
more  completely  robed  maiden  is  seen  back  to  at  the 
right  holding  before  her  a covering  which  she  is  about 
to  throw  over  the  dead.  Above,  a Cupid  weeps,  and 
another  is  by  Venus,  while  in  the  distance  three  more 
are  seen  spearing  a boar.  The  swirl  and  twist  of  line, 
the  crowding  together  of  the  figures,  make  a confusion 
that  nevertheless  does  not  wholly  obscure  the  often  really 
beautiful  lines  of  figure  and  the  soft  smooth  modelling 
of  the  flesh-planes. 

A number  of  Mignon’s  fruit  and  flower  pieces  show 
that  painter’s  ability  as  still-life  portrayer,  but  are  of  little 
real  worth.  At  his  best  he  approaches  Jan  David  de 


Gran&e  (Balerie 


Heem,  but  is  much  less  warm  and  clear  in  colour,  far 
weaker  in  composition,  and  often  cold  and  heavy. 

Denner’s  Portrait  of  a Woman  is  so  painfully  finished 
that  one’s  pleasure  is  lost  in  the  multiplicity  of  details 
and  in  his  evident  anxiety  to  get  the  exact  texture  of 
every  hair. 

Seybold  copied  Denner,  but  had  much  better  colour. 
The  Portrait  of  Himself,  is  warm  and  interesting  in 
tone.  The  colour-scheme  is  pleasing  with  the  gray  cos- 
tume, white  shirt  and  green  cap. 

The  Portrait  of  Marie-Amelie-Christine  of  Saxony, 
Queen  of  Spain,  is  not  one  of  Raphael  Mengs’s  most 
successful  achievements.  Mengs  was  brought  up  on 
Raphael  and  the  ancients.  From  his  earliest  childhood 
he  was  put  at  copying  till,  if  he  ever  had  any  individu- 
ality it  was  copied  out  of  him.  Yet  so  perfect  were  his 
drawings,  so  pleasing  his  forms  compared  to  the  utterly 
trashy  works  of  his  contemporary  countrymen,  that  it  is 
not  difficult  to  understand  why  he  was  so  greatly  admired. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


GRANDE  GALERIE  — FLEMISH  SCHOOL 

The  last  two  sections  of  the  Grande  Galerie  contain 
some  of  the  important  pictures  of  the  Flemish  masters, 
the  larger  number  of  the  remainder  owned  by  the  Louvre 
being  in  the  new  rooms  opened  in  1900. 

Paul  Bril,  of  whose  works  the  Louvre  possesses  a 
number  of  excellent  specimens,  lived  and  worked  so 
long  in  Rome  that  he  became  greatly  Italianized.  Still, 
he  kept  certain  Flemish  attributes.  His  realistic  method 
of  looking  at  nature  was  essentially  Flemish,  as  was  his 
conscientious  care  in  dealing  with  details.  He  was  noted 
for  intelligent  distribution  of  light,  for  poetic  rendering, 
and  for  an  effective  ensemble  that  was  not  too  much 
broken  by  his  worked-out  accessories.  He  has  been  called 
the  precursor  of  both  Claude  Lorrain  and  Poussin. 
Both  he  and  his  elder  brother  Matthaus  received  pensions 
from  Sixtus  V.  and  most  of  their  work  is  still  to  be 
seen  in  Italy. 

Of  his  works  owned  by  the  Louvre,  one  is  a landscape 
called  Diana  and  Her  Nymphs.  Bril  had  a plan  for 
building  his  landscapes  that  was  evidently  one  of  pre- 
conceived design.  His  foregrounds  are  almost  always 
sunk  into  a sombre  shadow  that  is  brown  in  tone  and 
decidedly  unnatural.  Once  in  the  middle  distance,  his 
light  grows  clear,  his  atmosphere  vibrating,  his  colours 

152 


(Branbe  (Valerie 


153 


delightful.  The  general  criticism  holds  true  of  this 
canvas.  A winding  stream  fills  the  larger  part  of  the 
foreground,  reeds  and  bushes  growing  in  it  at  the  right 
and  two  tall  trees  at  the  left.  This  is  all  in  deep  shadow, 
the  more  difficult  to  understand  because  there  seems  to 
be  plenty  of  open  space  through  which  the  sunlight  could 
easily  break.  A forest  makes  the  middle  foreground  at  the 
right  and  this  also  is  largely  in  shadow.  At  the  left,  how- 
ever, the  light  strikes  clear  and  bright.  Here  a bridge  of 
logs  is  thrown  across  the  river  and  over  this  Diana,  her 
dogs  and  two  of  her  companions  are  crossing.  Beyond 
them  again,  where  a charming  rolling  land  of  trees,  fields 
and  hills  stretch  to  the  sky,  the  atmospheric  effect  is 
thoroughly  delightful. 

Exactly  the  same  distribution  of  light  is  shown  in  The 
Duck  Shooting.  At  the  right  two  enormous  oaks,  the 
branches  of  which  are  cut  off  by  the  top  of  the  picture, 
are  in  a depth  of  unexplainable  shadow.  The  two  hunters 
on  the  ground  at  their  base,  are  of  course  entirely  sub- 
merged by  this  darkness.  Once  beyond  this  point,  how 
very  different  the  feeling!  The  pond  with  its  smooth 
surface  scarcely  rippled  except  by  the  swimming  ducks, 
the  massed  trees  across  it  in  the  middle  distance,  the 
opening  into  the  fields  beyond,  the  enveloping  sky,  — all 
are  full  of  a peaceful  light  and  are  as  true  and  natural 
as  they  are  idyllic.  In  this  as  in  many  of  Bril’s  pictures, 
the  figures  are  by  Annibale  Caracci. 

The  Air  and  The  Earth,  by  Jan  Breughel  in  this 
section,  show  some  of  that  painter’s  characteristics.  He 
was  a contemporary  of  Bril,  and  was  called  Velvet  Breu- 
ghel because  he  painted  flowers  that  afterward  were 
largely  copied  on  velvet.  He  had  none  of  the  roystering 
style  of  his  father,  Peter,  and  dealt  but  little  in  peasant 
pictures.  He  was  a celebrated  landscape-painter  of  his 


154 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


day,  and  Rubens  frequently  employed  him  to  paint  land- 
scapes and  flowers  in  his  pictures.  He  as  well  as  Bril 
was  a strongly  Italianized  Fleming,  and  in  most  of 
his  scenes  he  introduced  Roman  ruins  or  classic  build- 
ings. 

The  Air  shows  Urania  sitting  upon  a cloud,  nude  but 
for  a bit  of  red  drapery.  In  her  left  hand  she  holds  a 
spear  and  upon  her  right  shoulder  perches  a white 
paroquet.  By  her  side  a young  Love  gazes  through  a 
glass  at  Diana  and  Apollo  in  their  chariot  driving  through 
the  air.  At  the  right  are  three  little  Loves  in  the  middle 
of  a heap  of  optical  instruments,  at  the  left  a tree  and 
a deep  valley. 

The  Earth  is  an  opening  of  a forest  where  all  kinds 
of  animals  are  seen.  At  the  right,  near  a tree,  in  the  midst 
of  flowers,  is  a wolf,  in  the  centre  an  ox,  a turkey-cock 
and  a peacock,  at  the  left,  a lion,  a tiger,  and  a horse. 
In  the  distance  at  the  right  is  a pond  and  at  the  left 
Adam  and  Eve  with  God,  near  the  tree  of  good  and 
evil.  Here  are  all  the  elements  Breughel  revelled  in. 
And  who  shall  say  the  picture  is  not  as  full  of  humour 
as  the  more  notable  peasant  scenes  of  his  father? 

Entirely  different  in  almost  every  respect  are  the 
paintings  of  Frans  Pourbus,  who,  living  at  the  same 
time  as  Breughel,  spent  a large  part  of  his  life  in  Paris. 
His  work  was  chiefly  portraiture,  though  some  of  his 
religious  scenes  are  well  knowm  and  admired.  In  Paris 
he  painted  all  the  royal  family  and  most  of  the  noted 
people  of  the  court.  They  are  finished  to  a high  degree, 
have  always  much  richness  of  costume,  and  seem  ex- 
tremely truthful  in  countenance. 

Of  the  two  portraits  of  Henri  IV.  by  him  in  the 
Louvre,  the  one  standing  with  his  hand  directly  on  the 
table  beside  him,  is  to-day  regarded  as  a classic.  The 


(Branbe  (Balede 


iss 

king  is  posed  squarely  in  full  face,  but  has  turned  his 
head  slightly  toward  his  left  shoulder.  He  has  a ruff 
about  his  neck  and  the  order  of  the  Holy  Spirit  on 
a ribbon  across  his  chest.  He  is  in  black  doublet  and 
hose  which  contrast  with  the  red  and  gold  covering 
of  the  table.  Henri  IV.  is  a man  of  middle  age  in  this 
portrait  and  in  the  furrows  of  his  forehead,  in  the  con- 
tracted brows,  the  firm  mouth  and  the  straight  pose,  can 
be  felt  something  of  the-  nature  of  Henry  of  Navarre 
whose  Edict  of  Nantes  is  perhaps  the  best  thing  that 
men  remember  of  him. 

Equally  characteristic  and  much  more  splendid  is  the 
Portrait  of  Marie  de  Medici,  Henri’s  wife.  She  is 
seated  on  a sort  of  dais  covered  with  red  velvet  bordered 
with  gold.  Her  gown  is  a most  magnificent  blue  robe 
scattered  over  with  golden  fleurs-de-lis  and  bordered 
with  ermine,  the  velvet  mantle  being  also  enriched  with 
the  flower  of  France,  and  lined  with  the  royal  fur. 
Pearls  and  precious  stones  blaze  and  bloom  about  her 
and  if  one  thinks  rather  more  of  the  gorgeous  costum- 
ing of  this  Italian  Queen  of  France  than  of  her  high- 
bred, slender,  haughty  face,  it  is  not  because  the  painter 
has  slighted  the  person  of  the  royal  sitter  but  because  the 
clothes  were  of  such  vast  importance ! 

Pourbus’s  Portrait  of  Guillaume  de  Vair,  guardian  of 
the  Seals  of  France  under  Louis  XIIL,  is  another  fine 
work. 

To  begin  to  describe  the  paintings  of  Rubens  in  the 
Louvre  would  require  a volume  in  itself.  It  is  only 
possible  to  mention  a few  of  the  more  important  ones,  or 
those  that  are  for  one  reason  or  another  especially  char- 
acteristic of  this  painter  of  whom,  one  is  tempted  to  say, 
everything  was  characteristic.  For  Rubens  painted  every 
sort  of  subject  that  a painter’s  brush  could  choose. 


156 


Ubc  Brt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


Biblical,  legendary,  ancient  and  modern,  historical  and 
mythological  subjects;  portraits  and  salon  pieces;  battles 
and  hunting-scenes ; grotesques  and  landscapes,  flower 
and  fruit  decorations ; nothing  was  outside  the  range  of 
his  genius.  Though  he  represents  the  complete  fruition 
of  Belgic  art,  in  him  too,  are  seen  the  germs  of  its 
decadence.  To  a certain  extent  he  may  be  compared  in 
this  way  to  Michelangelo.  Michelangelo’s  followers 
and  even  the  men  who  were  working  right  with  him, 
though  they  might  appreciate  his  genius,  mostly  copied 
his  faults,  as  if  the  source  of  his  power  lay  in  the  exag- 
gerations of  his  hand.  So  with  Rubens.  His  heaped-up 
mountains  of  flesh,  his  tumultuous  action  and  emotion, 
his  surging  blood,  his  grossness  of  form,  his  coarseness 
of  suggestion,  his  disregard  of  the  convenances  of  paint- 
ing, his  abandonment  to  the  fleshly,  the  earthly,  the 
spectacular,  — all  this  again,  in  Rubens  even  at  his  worst, 
and  it  not  infrequently  was  at  his  worst,  is  so  charged 
with  the  fiery  spirit  of  his  brush,  so  overwhelming  in 
its  beauty  of  colour,  so  powerful,  so  much  above  as  it 
is  outside  the  canons  of  art,  that  one  forgives  the  lack 
of  taste,  the  brutality,  the  sensuality,  in  an  ecstatic  maze 
at  the  versatility,  the  rush,  the  sweep,  the  creative  fire 
of  his  art.  But,  again,  it  was  just  this  creative  fire  that 
his  followers  lacked,  while  his  idiosyncrasies  and  ex- 
travagances they  found  easy  enough  to  copy. 

Rubens  was  born  in  Cologne  of  Flemish  parents  and 
returned  to  Antwerp  when  a young  boy.  He  travelled 
extensively  in  Italy,  in  Spain,  and  England,  and  was 
renowned  as  a courtier,  a savant,  a diplomat,  and  as  an 
honourable,  upright  man,  a true  and  tender  husband  and 
father.  Besides  all  his  gifts  and  opportunities,  he  was 
a most  indefatigable  worker.  No  other  painter  ever 
began  to  leave  behind  such  an  enormous  amount  of  work. 


GranDe  Oalerie 


157 


The  number  of  his  pictures  reaches  over  fifteen  hundred, 
and  though,  like  Raphael,  he  had  a small  army  of  assist- 
ants constantly  at  work,  the  canvases  that  show  only 
his  own  hand  are  enough  to  outnumber  the  entire  output 
of  the  most  prolific  painters.  Fecundity,  originality,  in- 
exhaustible fancy,  almost  unbelievable  facility,  a com- 
plete command  of  every  trick  of  technique,  a surety  of 
hand,  a certainty  of  eye,  — in  all  this  Rubens  has  scarcely 
ever  been  approached  by  any  artist  of  any  day.  And 
yet  it  remains  true  that  in  religious  painting  he  almost 
never  reached  the  highest  expression,  and  in  portraiture 
he  cannot  be  named  along  with  Titian,  Velasquez  or  even 
men  of  lower  rank.  Yet,  he  painted  the  mighty  Descent 
from  the  Cross  at  Antwerp,  the  St.  Ildefonso  at  Vienna 
and  the  portraits  of  Helena  Fourment. 

Of  the  many  canvases  of  his  that  are  in  the  Grande 
Galerie,  the  Kermesse,  in  Bay  F,  represents  one  of  the 
scenes  of  “ low  life  ” that,  when  he  chose,  he  could  revel 
in  with  an  abandonment  unequalled  by  Steen  or  Brauwer. 
A large  company  of  peasants  is  assembled  outdoors  in 
front  of  an  ale-house.  A long  curving  line  of  them  are 
dancing  madly,  a lot  of  others  are  squatted  on  the  ground 
drinking  with  equal  fury,  while  others  are  engaged  in 
love-making  as  open  as  it  is  indecent.  Waagen  says 
“ There  is  in  this  marvellous  picture  such  a vivid  exhi- 
bition of  jovial  sensuality  and  a glow  of  physical  life  . . . 
that  every  other  work  of  this  class  must  appear  tame  and 
heavy  in  comparison.  At  the  same  time  the  intellect  dis- 
played in  the  treatment,  the  richness  and  brilliance  of  the 
colouring,  are  worthy  of  the  admirable  skill  and 
invention  displayed  in  the  composition.” 

Rubens’s  colour  was  never  more  wonderful  than  in  The 
Flight  of  Lot.  It  is  also  more  restrained,  more  dignified, 
more  imposing  in  its  significance  than  in  most  of  his 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


158* 

Scriptural  scenes.  At  the  right,  an  angel,  with  wings 
spread  is  showing  Lot  the  path.  Another  heavenly  guide 
in  the  centre  is  hastening  the  steps  of  Lot’s  wife,  who  is 
turning  toward  him,  her  hands  clasped  in  pleading,  her 
eyes  full  of  tears.  A daughter,  at  the  left,  a basket  full 
of  jewels  in  her  arms,  holds  the  bridle  of  an  ass  loaded 
with  precious  articles.  Behind  the  ass  the  second  daugh- 
ter carries  on  her  head  a large  basket  full  of  fruits. 
In  the  sky  are  four  demons  armed  with  thunderbolts 
which  they  are  showering  upon  the  doomed  town. 

One  of  his  characteristic  pictures  of  the  Madonna  is 
the  one  called  The  Virgin,  Child  Jesus  and  an  Angel  in 
the  Middle  of  a Garland  of  Flowers.  The  Madonna,  a 
half-length  figure,  is  holding  the  child  on  her  knees,  while 
an  angel  places  a crown  of  flowers  on  her  head.  The 
whole  group  is  encircled  with  the  elaborate  wreath  of 
flowers  which  it  is  supposed  Velvet  Breughel  painted. 

Neefs,  who  is  represented  by  a number  of  church 
interiors  was  the  most  celebrated  “ architectural  painter  ” 
of  Flanders  of  the  seventeenth  century,  ranking  only 
below  De  Witte,  who  came  thirty  years  after  him.  He 
was  a friend  of  Velvet  Breughel,  of  Francken,  of  Teniers 
and  Van  Thulden,  all  of  whom  at  times  painted  the 
figures  in  his  compositions. 

His  View  of  the  Interior  of  a Cathedral  shows  his 
delight  in  portraying  processions  and  funeral  services 
under  the  light  of  torches.  Though  his  chiaroscuro  is 
not  equal  to  that  of  De  Witte  he  succeeded  in  achieving 
an  effect  that  is  both  realistic  and  telling. 

Among  the  many  animal  paintings  of  Snyders  in  the 
Louvre,  the  Wild  Boar  Hunt  is  one  of  the  most  amazing. 
It  is  in  Bay  E and  differs  only  in  detail  from  many 
other  boar  hunts  by  him.  The  same  desperate  wild 
animal,  the  same  plucky,  furious  hounds,  some  dying. 


GranDe  (Balerie 


159 


some  inflicting  fearful  wounds  on  their  prey,  — all  is  a 
wild  carnage  whose  outcome  is  left  to  the  imagination. 
It  is  always  just  before  the  crisis  that  Snyder  depicts 
his  conflicts,  just  before  the  decisive  victorious  stroke 
is  made  by  either  combatant.  It  is  partly  due  to  his 
ability  to  suggest  that  the  worst  is  yet  to  come  that 
makes  these  battles  so  thrillingly  dramatic. 

Fyt,  the  other  great  animal-painter  of  Flanders  is  also 
well  represented  at  the  Louvre.  Npthing  of  its  kind 
could  be  more  perfect  than  his  Game  in  a Larder.  In 
this  crowded  canvas  he  shows  what  he  can  do  with 
feathers.  These  he  can  paint  till  one  seemingly  can  fairly 
pluck  them  from  the  limp,  lifeless  bodies  they  cover. 
Heaped  on  the  floor,  and  piled  on  a long  low  bench,  are 
partridge,  woodcock,  wild  duck,  tumbled  on  their  heads, 
their  wings  spread  out,  thrown  flat  on  their  breasts  or 
half  held  up,  claws  in  air,  with  one  huge  hare  hanging 
against  the  wall  above  them,  — the  mass  of  feathers  and 
fur  is  as  brilliant  as  it  is  realistic.  An  amusing  element 
is  introduced  by  the  cat,  who,  half-buried  among  the 
birds,  sits  gazing  at  two  marmosets,  they  in  their  turn 
studying  her  with  unafraid  interest  from  their  perch 
on  the  sill  of  the  partly  open  window  at  the  left. 

Of  these  two  men,  it  is  only  during  recent  years  that 
Fyt  has  been  given  his  deserved  recognition.  Snyders 
has  been  called  the  Rubens  of  the  Lower  Life.  There 
is  the  same  sweep  of  brush,  the  same  fulness  and 
amplitude  of  form,  the  same  splendour  of  colour,  and  rush 
of  movement,  the  same  richness  of  ideas,  the  same  com- 
mand over  materials.  He  essayed  every  branch  of  animal 
life  and  was  equally  successful  in  all.  His  lion,  bear  and 
boar  hunts  where  dogs  are  the  furious  antagonists  are  so 
terrific,  so  full  of  maddened  power,  rage  and  yelping 


i6o  ubc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 

victory,  that  the  spectator  is  fairly  carried  off  his  feet  by 
the  concentrated  power  and  passion  of  the  scene. 

Fyt  had  less  of  the  terrible,  the  overpowering,  the 
threatening,  but  he  had  more  sanity,  equal  freedom  of 
expression  and  more  truthful  realism.  He  was  bolder 
in  his  touch  and  freer.  His  rendering  of  fur  and  feathers 
is  amazingly  perfect  and  his  brilliance  of  light,  delicacy 
of  colour  and  the  sincerity  of  his  emphasis  often,  as  has 
been  said,  make  him  surpass  even  Snyders  himself. 

When  Louis  XIV.,  at  sight  of  some  pictures  by  David 
Teniers  exclaimed  disgustedly,  “ Tirez  de  devant  moi 
ces  magots,”  he  would  have  been  still  more  disgusted 
could  he  have  dreamed  that  one  day  a large  number  of 
these  despised  works  would  be  given  places  of  honour 
in  the  chief  museum  of  his  country.  Thirty-three  paint- 
ings by  Teniers  are  in  the  Louvre  and  of  these  many  are 
in  the  Fleming’s  best  vein.  It  certainly  is  a vein,  how- 
ever, that  the  “ grand  monarch  ” who  admired  above  all 
art  the  pomposity  of  Le  Brun,  could  never  have  learned 
to  appreciate.  Gautier  says  of  Teniers:  “No  one  has 
better  painted  the  outer  appearance  of  Flanders,  with 
its  humid  sky,  softly  gray,  its  fresh  verdures,  its  brick 
houses,  ...  its  hospitable  inns,  its  thickset  peasants  . . . 
and  its  good,  round  little  women.”  Teniers  not  only 
painted  drinkers,  smokers,  peasant  life  in  all  its  ramifica- 
tions, but  he  also  essayed  Biblical  scenes.  In  these,  like 
some  of  the  Italians,  he  made  no  pretence  at  historical  ac- 
curacy. His  people  were  straight  Flemings,  and  his  cos- 
tumes “d  la  mode  du  XVII^  siecle.”  Teniers  was  the 
friend  of  princes,  was  court  painter  to  Archduke  Leopold 
William,  Governor  of  the  Spanish  Netherlands,  and  this 
dignitary  made  him  groom  of  the  chamber  and  superin- 
tendent of  his  picture-gallery.  It  is  to  these  circum- 
stances, probably,  that  Teniers  in  spite  of  his  paintings 


Orange  Galede 


i6i 

of  tavern  scenes  and  drinking  bouts  escapes  the  oppro- 
brium that  was  bestowed  upon  Brauwer  and  other 
painters  of  “ low  life.” 

Most  of  his  works  that  are  not  in  the  Collection  La- 
caze,  are  to  be  found  in  Bay  E.  The  Inn  Beside  a 
River  is  one  of  these.  At  the  left  is  the  little  inn  of  a 
story  and  a half  high,  and  at  one  corner  out-of-doors,  a 
group  of  peasants  sit  or  stand  about  a small  table.  From 
the  door  in  the  end  of  the  house  the  hostess  comes  bear- 
ing a waiter.  The  shore  by  the  inn  slopes  down  into  a 
river  that  flows  diagonally  across,  and  in  it  men  stand 
busy  with  their  nets.  On  the  opposite  shore  on  a high, 
wooded  bank,  is  a castle.  In  the  distance  the  sun’s  rays 
pierce  the  clouds  and  strike  brilliantly  on  a point  below 
the  castle. 

The  Temptation  of  St.  Anthony  was  a favourite  subject 
with  Teniers,  apparently  chiefly  because  it  gave  him  a 
chance  to  depict  grimacing  beasts  and  fearsome  birds. 
The  aged  saint  kneels  in  profile  in  a cave,  before  a rock 
on  which  is  his  open  book  of  prayers,  a skull,  a wooden 
crucifix  and  a jug.  With  one  terrible  claw  clutching  the 
saint’s  hood  which  has  fallen  back,  a demon  leans  over 
him  offering  him  a glass  of  wine.  The  leer  on  this  face 
under  its  hat  cocked  up  with  a carrot  is  enough  to  give 
one  bad  dreams  for  a week.  Behind  Anthony  a hag  of 
a sorceress  looks  up  with  a snarling  laugh  from  the 
parchment  she  reads,  and  above  are  bats,  and  night-birds 
and  gloom  and  horror. 

The  Prodigal  Son  is  merely  a Dutch  out-of-doors  party, 
except  that  the  girls  are  rather  better  dressed  and  the 
furnishings  of  the  table  more  elaborate  than  usual  in 
Dutch  paintings  of  such  occasions. 

The  Village  Fete  is  another  kind  of  scene  which 
Teniers  loved  to  portray.  He  was  in  his  element  when  he 


i62 


Ubc  Hrt  of  tbc  Xouvre 


could  paint  a crowded  country  fair  or  fete,  of  dancing, 
eating,  drinking,  love-making  peasants.  This  is  full  of 
the  boisterous  noise,  rude  actions  and  hearty  guffaws 
which  only  Jan  Steen  could  more  realistically  express. 
But  the  truth  of  action,  the  vigour  of  movement,  the 
amusing  episodes,  the  freedom  of  handling  and  excellent 
grouping  are  all  found  in  this  as  in  the  Kermesse  in 
Collection  Lacaze. 

A soft,  gray,  luminous  sky  is  one  of  the  chief  charms 
of  the  picture  called  Works  of  Mercy,  in  which  an  old 
man  is  giving  bread  and  milk  to  a crowd  of  beggars. 

If  the  Louvre  has  thirty-three  Teniers,  it  has  tw^enty 
Champaignes,  And  vastly  different  these  latter  are  from 
the  former.  Champaigne  lived  and  worked  so  long  in 
Paris  that  his  pictures  are  not  much  like  most  of  his 
countrymen’s.  Yet,  in  spite  of  the  influence  of  France 
and  Poussin,  he  has  been  universally  regarded  as  be- 
longing to  the  Low  Countries.  And  indeed  he  never 
lost  the  Fleming’s  feeling  for  colour  and  depth  of  tone. 
His  work  was  chiefly  portraiture  and  religious  scenes, 
though  he  painted  some  landscapes  with  real  poetic  feel- 
ing. Of  these  there  are  two  in  the  Louvre  of  no  common 
interest.  But  it  is  in  his  portraits  that  he  ranks  highest. 
They  are  vivid,  spirited,  and  must  have  been  extraordi- 
narily realistic  as  likenesses.  His  touch  is  free,  his 
draughtsmanship  able,  his  colour  brilliantly  silvery,  pure 
and  transparent  except  where  the  shadow-tones  have 
grown  too  dark  owing  to  an  impure  medium.  Among 
his  works  here  are  some  of  the  very  best  that  he  pro- 
duced. 

Very  wonderful  is  the  double  Portrait  of  Mother 
Catherine  Agnes  Arnaud  and  Sister  Catherine  of  St. 
Susan,  the  latter  the  painter’s  daughter.  The  picture  was 
executed  by  Champaigne  and  given  to  the  convent  at 


PORTRAIT  OF  MOTHER  CATHERINE  AGNES  ARNAUD  AND  SISTER  CATHERINE  OF  ST.  SUSAN 

By  Champaigne 


Grange  Galerie 


163 


Port  Royal  in  grateful  remembrance  of  what  he  regarded 
as  the  miraculous  cure  of  his  daughter  in  answer  to  the 
mother  superior’s  prayers.  The  canvas  shows  the  nun 
in  the  midst  of  these  devotions.  Sitting  in  a wide,  low 
chair  with  her  feet  resting  on  a broad  footstool  in  front 
of  her,  is  the  young  daughter  in  the  costume  of  the 
nuns  of  Port  Royal.  She  holds  on  her  lap  the  little  open 
box  of  reliquaries,  while,  with  frail,  joined  hands,  she 
prays  for  health.  In  the  centre,  facing  the  observer,  but 
on  the  far  side  of  the  young  Catherine,  kneels  the 
mother  superior,  her  head  lifted,  her  hands  met  in 
prayerful  pleading.  The  surrounding  room  is  one  of  the 
cells  of  the  convent  and  the  bare  gray  walls  are  unbroken 
except  for  a large  crucifix  over  the  young  nun’s  head 
and  a long  Latin  inscription  at  the  left  in  which  Cham- 
paigne  expresses  his  gratitude  for  the  recovery.  By  the 
side  of  his  daughter  at  the  right  is  a chair  on  which 
is  a book  of  hours.  The  colour  throughout  is  quiet,  re- 
strained, a gray  harmony.  The  faces  of  the  two  women 
are  remarkable  examples  of  what  portraiture  can  be. 
That  they  were  likenesses,  contemporary  criticism  makes 
evident.  But  that  they  are  much  more,  the  merest  tyro 
must  perceive.  The  pale,  wan,  yet  peaceful  face  of  the 
girl,  the  older,  fuller,  but  even  more  spiritual  face  of  the 
mother,  show  an  insight,  an  appreciation  of  spirit,  and  a 
power  of  communicating  this  insight  to  others  that 
has  rarely  been  surpassed. 

Another  double  portrait  is  the  one  of  Frangois  Mansard 
and  Claude  Perrault,  architects.  M.  Mansard  is  at  the 
left  of  the  two,  turning  slightly  to  the  right,  his  face  in 
three-quarters  view.  Perrault  faces  him  but  looks  toward 
the  spectator,  pointing  with  his  right  hand  to  a statue 
resting  on  a column  behind.  Mansard  has  a dark  mous- 
tache, eyes  and  hair,  Perrault  is  much  fairer.  The 


164 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


former  is  dressed  in  black,  Perrault  in  gray  with  a white 
collar.  The  stone  railing  on  which  Mansard’s  arm  rests 
makes  the  base-line  of  the  picture  so  that  the  two  are 
shown  scarcely  to  their  waists.  If  not  so  celebrated  as 
the  two  nuns  or  the  Richelieu,  this  is  among  the  best 
of  Champaigne’s  portraits.  The  background,  the  statue, 
the  somewhat  conventional  positions,  recall  Poussin’s 
influence,  but  the  truth  of  delineation,  the  strong  in- 
dividualization, the  smiling  interest  of  Perrault  suggest 
even  more  strongly  Champaigne’s  Flemish  birth  and 
training. 

His  religious  pictures,  Christ  on  the  Cross,  the  Dead 
Christ,  the  St.  Philip,  are  all  Champaigne  Poussinized, 
and  though  full  of  dignity  and  religious  feeling,  are 
too  thoroughly  impregnated  with  the  classic  traditions 
of  the  French  school  to  add  greatly  to  Champaigne’s 
reputation. 

The  Portrait  of  Himself  is  valuable  both  as  a historical 
document  and  as  a work  of  art.  The  painter  is  delineated 
middle-aged,  sober,  the  marks  of  sorrow  on  his  lined  face, 
his  regard  self-contained  and  serious,  his  eyes  shining 
with  a courage  that  illumines  the  whole  face  and  makes 
it  both  lovable  and  strong.  As  a technical  achievement 
it  is  not  far  below  the  Perrault  in  value. 

The  four  pictures  of  Meel  or  Miel,  his  name  being 
spelled  both  ways,  in  Bay  E are  good  examples  of  his 
style.  The  style,  however,  is  that  of  the  decadence.  He 
was  born  in  Antwerp,  but  went  to  Rome  and  studied 
with  Andrea  Sacchi.  His  works  display  dignity,  good 
draughtsmanship,  and  a colour  which,  though  rich,  is 
often  dark  to  sombreness. 

In  the  foreground  of  The  Halt,  a couple  of  soldiers 
are  asleep  on  the  ground.  In  the  centre  of  the  grotto, 
which  is  the  encampment  of  the  company,  an  officer  is 


Grange  Oalede 


165 

giving  orders  to  a subordinate.  At  the  right  some  sol- 
diers are  playing  cards,  a cavalier  feeds  his  horse  and 
others  are  about  a fire.  At  the  left  in  the  plain  are  the 
tents  of  the  camp. 

Much  more  of  a decadent,  and  far  more  Italianized, 
is  Van  der  Meulen,  who  has  a long  list  of  pictures  at  the 
Louvre.  He  was  one  of  the  painters  of  the  court  of  Louis 
XIV.  and  followed  that  monarch  to  battle,  reproducing 
scenes  of  the  campaigns  on  canvas.  In  many  of  his 
works  are  found  excellent  portraits  of  Louis  XIV.  and 
other  notable  people  of  the  day.  His  landscapes  are  often 
too  green,  though  he  had  Huysmans  to  assist  him  in 
this  part  of  his  labours,  and  his  horses,  though  fairly 
drawn  are  not  of  sufficient  variety  in  character  or  action. 
The  best  of  his  canvases  in  the  Louvre  are,  perhaps.  The 
Entry  of  Louis  XIV.  and  Marie  Theresa  into  Auras ; 
The  View  of  the  Village  and  Chateau  of  Dinant,  View  of 
the  Fort  of  Luxembourg  and  a View  of  Fontainebleau. 

In  the  first  of  these,  from  the  left  over  a vast  plain, 
comes  a gilded  coach  drawn  by  six  white  horses.  Within 
are  the  queen  and  her  ladies  in  waiting.  Her  pages 
march  alongside  and  behind  are  Louis  on  a white  horse 
and  the  Dauphin  on  a sorrel.  They  precede  a cortege  of 
mounted  noblemen.  At  the  right,  in  the  foreground,  an 
assemblage  of  people  watch  the  procession  and  in  the 
distance  the  body  of  the  troops  is  seen.  The  fortifi- 
cations of  the  town  make  the  horizon  line. 

In  both  E and  F as  well  as  in  other  rooms  of  the 
Louvre,  are  canvases  by  Huysmans,  he  who  assisted 
Van  der  Meulen  in  landscape.  Huysmans  lived  at  the 
time  of  Ruysdael  and  Wynants.  His  style  reflects  some- 
thing of  Rembrandt’s  influence  especially  in  his  chiaros- 
curo. He  had  a way  of  lighting  the  interior  of  a wood 
or  a bit  of  a clearing  with  a golden  tone  that  is  all  the 


i66 


XTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


more  telling  in  comparison  with  the  dark  colouring  sur- 
rounding it.  His  landscapes  have  real  poetic  feeling 
and  where  they  are  not  spoiled  by  the  dimming  of  time 
still  show  the  out-of-door  atmosphere  that  was  so 
admired  in  his  day. 

Bay  E is  mostly  given  up  to  works  of  Jordaens,  Van 
Dyck  and  Rubens,  the  rest  of  their  canvases  being  in  the 
new  rooms  at  the  end  of  the  Grande  Galerie.  When  Ru- 
bens died,  Jordaens  was  universally  regarded  as  the  great- 
est painter  left  in  Flanders.  He  was  then  about  forty- 
seven  years  old,  and  had  not  yet  decorated  the  Maison  de 
Bois  with  his  celebrated  Apotheosis  of  the  Prince  of 
Orange.  Jordaens  has  rarely  had  justice  done  him 
either  by  critics  or  amateurs.  Often  he  has  been  dis- 
missed with  the  summing  up  that  he  was  little  more 
than  an  imitator  of  Rubens.  Influenced  to  a certain 
extent  by  the  great  painter  of  Antwerp,  undoubtedly  he 
was,  as  was  every  other  painter  of  that  time  and  land. 
But  he  did  not  become  a mere  replica  of  Rubens.  He 
is  indeed  seen  to  be  more  and  more  unlike  him  the  more 
they  are  studied  together.  To  begin  with,  Jordaens  is 
more  truly  Flemish.  And  it  does  not  take  long  to  see 
what  Alexandre  points  out,  that  he  was  more  real  than 
Rubens.  Rubens  produced  the  visions  of  his  mind  to 
a much  greater  extent  than  he  copied  the  views  of  his 
optic  nerve.  Even  when  he  painted  actual,  every-day 
scenes  or  portraits,  they  had  first  been  passed  through 
the  golden  alembic  of  his  brain  till  they  were  trans- 
formed into  something  more  brilliant,  more  intense,  more 
glorious  than  ever  mortal  eyes  had  seen.  With  Jordaens, 
on  the  contrary,  his  passion  for  the  real,  the  actual,  the 
present,  allowed  no  such  liberty.  To  paint  things 
exactly  as  they  existed  was  to  him  the  height  of  achieve- 
ment. He  would  make  them  more  real,  if  possible,  rather 


<5ranC>e  Galeric 


167 


than  idealize  them  out  of  nature.  It  is  this  very  absorp- 
tion in  the  present,  the  existing,  that  has  caused  the  slur 
of  “ vulgar  ” to  be  thrown  at  Jordaens.  To  our  time  and 
race,  those  bulging,  heavy  women,  those  pompous,  over- 
fed burghers  may  indeed  seem  common,  vulgar.  But 
they  were  the  people  of  Jordaens’s  day  and  race  and  in 
their  very  truth  to  nature  were  neither  coarse  nor  com- 
mon. Another  point  of  difference  between  Rubens  and 
Jordaens  is  their  colour-scheme.  Rubens’s  palette  was 
silvery  gray,  delicate,  fresh ; Jordaens’s  hot,  brown,  and 
somewhat  heavy.  Yet  vigour,  truth,  richness  and  power 
it  had  to  a tremendous  degree.  In  drawing  he  was  more 
truthful,  more  normal,  in  composition  more  restrained 
but  not  less  felicitous,  in  modelling  of  flesh  and  form 
as  masterly.  It  is  indeed,  as  Alexandre  again  says,  not 
so  much  below  Rubens  that  he  should  be  placed.  If  not 
quite  on  the  line  of  Rubens’s  pinnacle,  he  is  at  least  on  the 
same  plateau  with  him,  overlooking  a vast  plain  of  artists 
who  have  been  more  widely  praised. 

Jordaens  was  not  so  successful  in  his  religious  scenes 
as  in  his  mythologic,  historic  or  portrait  pieces.  The 
Four  Evangelists,  however,  is  less  a religious  scene  than 
it  is  a portrait  group  of  one  very  young  and  three  elderly 
men.  The  one  denominated  John  is  in  the  centre  of  the 
four,  all  of  whom  are  very  earnestly  and  reverently 
studying  an  open  book  on  a table  at  the  left.  His  white 
robe  is  so  full  as  to  be  almost  cumbersome  and  covers 
him  so  completely  that  his  head  and  hands  alone  are 
exposed.  He  stands  in  profile,  his  head  bent  over,  read- 
ing, his  left  hand  holding  the  drapery  at  his  neck,  his 
right  crossing  it  and  resting  against  his  chin.  These 
hands  are  nervous,  sensitive,  complementing  well  the 
impressible,  finely  drawn  face,  with  its  waving  dark  hair. 
At  the  right  is  Matthew,  who  is  about  to  write  in  a book 


i68 


Xlbc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


wjiich  he  holds  before  him,  evidently  copying  from  the 
one  on  the  table.  He  is  grizzled,  gray,  but  not  so  old, 
apparently,  as  Mark  and  Luke  who  are  looking  over 
the  shoulders  of  the  other  two.  The  hands  of  all  four 
Evangelists  are  full  of  character  and  very  expressive. 
They  are  however,  somewhat  too  prominent  and  similarly 
placed.  The  heads  are  vigorous,  firmly  drawn  and 
modelled. 

Under  titles  such  as  A Family  Repast,  Concert  after 
Meals  etc.,  scenes  similar  to  the  one  called  here  The 
King  Drinks  are  among  the  most  characteristic  of  Jor- 
daens.  He  was  never  so  happy  as  when  he  could  crowd 
about  a table  as  many  people  as  the  canvas  could  hold 
giving  variety  to  the  scenes  both  by  the  difference  of  the 
attitudes  and  the  ages  of  the  company.  All  sorts  and 
conditions  of  men,  too,  he  loved  to  bring  together.  This 
one  shows  his  usual  method  and  is  an  average  example, 
not  one  of  his  finest  works.  There  are  ten  people  and  one 
dog  about  this  family  board.  Among  them  are  an  old 
man  and  an  old  woman,  a middle-aged  man  and  his 
slightly  younger  wife,  two  maidens,  two  youths  and 
a child.  And  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  Jordaens’s 
brush  has  expressed  wonderfully  the  soft  pliability  of 
youthful  roundness,  the  firmer,  harder  planes  of  middle 
life  and  again  the  wrinkled  parchment-like  flesh  of  old 
age.  His  colour  is  equally  successful  in  differentiating,  his 
chiaroscuro  is  splendidly  managed.  At  one  end  of  the 
table  sits  he  of  the  family  who  bears  the  crown  upon  his 
head.  He  is  back  to  a window  so  that  his  face  is  in 
shadow,  the  light  striking,  however,  against  his  hand 
holding  the  goblet  from  which  he  is  drinking.  Behind 
him  stands  a young  boy  pouring  wine  into  the  glass  of 
an  elderly  man  at  the  right  of  him  with  the  crown.  In 
the  foreground,  and  thus  sitting  back  to  the  spectator, 


(Braude  (Balerie 


169 


is  the  young  girl  of  the  party.  She  has  turned  her  head 
to  look  over  her  right  shoulder,  however,  so  that  her 
face  comes  into  three-quarters  view,  catching  a charming 
play  of  light  on  forehead,  cheek  and  nose.  Opposite  her 
is  the  fool,  in  cap  and  bells,  grinning,  as  he  rests  one 
hand  on  the  hostess’s  shoulder  and  offers  her  a goblet 
with  the  other.  This  woman  is  richly  dressed  and  looks 
at  the  man  at  the  head  of  the  table  with  a brilliant  smile. 
Beside  her  is  the  small  child,  next  the  grandmother,  and 
finally  at  the  end  of  the  table  a young  man  with  wide  open 
mouth  repeating  the  note  he  has  just  struck  from  the 
tuning-fork  in  his  hand.  Back  of  him  the  head  and 
raised  arms  of  a serving  lass  are  seen,  and  in  the  imme- 
diate foreground  standing  beside  the  maiden,  is  a dog. 
All  is  jollity,  glee,  all  apparently  are  joining  in  the  song 
raised  by  the  youth.  There  is  also  much  charm  to  be 
found : note  the  delightful  curves  of  the  girl  turning 
round ; much  vigour  and  strength : see  the  firm  hand 
holding  the  tuning-fork  or  the  grandmother’s  splendidly 
drawn  face ; much  amplitude  and  fulness  of  design,  of 
massing  and  of  colour. 

The  Infancy  of  Jupiter  shows  Jordaens  with  a very 
different  subject.  At  the  left  a satyr  sits  laughing  and 
trying  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  small  Jupiter  who 
sits  weeping  at  the  foot  of  a pear-tree.  In  the  middle  of 
the  composition  a nude  woman  is  curled  up  milking  a 
goat.  She  has  turned  her  smiling  face  to  the  baby  god, 
as  if  assuring  him  his  dinner  would  soon  come.  It  was 
in  such  mythologic  scenes  that  Jordaens  fairly  revelled. 
Never  was  his  brush  more  virile,  his  colours  more  bril- 
liant, his  composition  more  telling. 

Of  the  five  canvases  in  Bay  F by  Van  Dyck,  the  Chil- 
dren of  Charles  I.  is  one  of  the  best  known.  The  little 
Prince  of  Wales,  afterward  Charles  II.,  stands  at  the  left 


170 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


with  crossed  feet,  leaning  against  the  base  of  a pillar,  his 
left  hand  holding  the  right  of  the  tiny  Duke  of  York, 
James  II.  to  be.  The  third  of  the  trio  is  the  Princess 
Mary,  afterward  wife  of  William  of  Orange.  At  the  ex- 
treme left,  beside  the  heir  apparent  sits  a shaggy  dog, 
soberness  and  importance  shining  from  his  intent  eye. 
The  Prince  of  Wales  is  in  a yellow  satin  suit  with  wide 
lace  collar  and  cuffs,  a rich  belt  about  his  waist.  The 
other  two  are  in  full  white  satin  gowns  made  with  the 
high  waist,  low  neck,  wide  sleeves  and  long  stiff-spread- 
ing skirt  so  indissolubly  associated  with  these  children  of 
the  unhappy  Charles.  Back  of  the  three  hangs  a golden 
brocade,  and  at  the  far  right  a view  of  a garden.  Van 
Dyck  painted  so  many  portraits  of  these  royal  babies  that 
they  are  to  be  found  all  over  Europe.  Never  more  delight- 
ful than  when  he  depicted  children,  he  was  perhaps  at  his 
best  in  these  portrait  groups  of  the  children  of  the  king 
who  so  admired  the  Flemish  painter. 

The  Portrait  of  the  Duke  of  Richmond  is  another 
noted  canvas.  The  very  embodiment  of  slender  grace  is 
the  youthful  duke,  with  his  full  bloused  shirt,  his  crimson 
satin  breeches,  his  blond  curls  falling  on  to  his  shoulders, 
his  long,  delicate  face  with  the  half-vacuous,  half-won- 
dering expression.  High  breeding,  that  subtle  exhalation 
of  the  exquisite  in  life  which  Van  Dyck  better  than  any 
other  could  express,  speaks  from  every  long  curve  of  the 
slender  body  and  hands,  from  the  carefully  tended  curls, 
from  the  bloom  of  the  pure  complexion. 

Not  only  could  Van  Dyck  paint  the  luxurious  life,  but 
he  could  and  did  live  it.  However  much  his  and  Rubens’s 
surroundings  or  their  work  resemble  each  other,  the  men 
themselves  were  totally  unlike.  In  spite  of  the  princely 
magnificence  in  which  Rubens  always  lived,  in  spite  of  the 
voluptuousness  felt  in  many  of  his  paintings,  he  himself 


Grange  (Balerte 


171 

was  most  abstemious,  with  none  of  the  vices  too  common 
at  that  or  any  age  to  men  in  his  position.  Van  Dyck,  on 
the  contrary,  though  perhaps  first  getting  his  taste  for 
luxury  while  he  was  a pupil  of  Rubens,  carried  his 
extravagant  expenditures  into  every  phase  of  life.  When, 
at  forty-four  years  of  age,  death  finally  overtook  him,  he 
had  thrown  away  youth,  health  and  wealth  in  a mad  rush 
for  pleasures  that  once  snatched,  were  only  cast  away  for 
others,  newer  and  more  exciting.  Even  in  his  early 
days  when  he  had  only  just  reached  Italy,  he  spent  so 
lavishly  and  lived  so  recklessly  that  the  Italians  called 
him  " il  pittore  cavalier e sc o.”  It  is  as  a portrait-painter 
that  Van  Dyck  is  known  at  his  best.  Though  he  painted 
some  beautiful  religious  pictures  and  some  noteworthy 
historical  scenes,  it  is  not  in  these  that  his  genius  finds 
full  expression.  As  a delineator  of  the  cavaliers,  the 
nobles,  the  princes,  the  high-bred  men  and  women  of 
his  time,  he  stands  almost  unsurpassed.  Only  Titian 
can  excel  him  in  this  branch  and  he  not  often.  His 
rendering  of  flesh,  the  grace,  the  delicacy,  the  fineness 
of  contour,  the  atmosphere  of  high  breeding  with  which 
he  surrounds  his  sitters,  these  are  characteristic  of  Van 
Dyck  more  than  of  any  other  painter.  As  has  been  often 
said  he  lacked  the  imagination,  the  unlimited  fecundity 
of  ideas,  the  originality  of  Rubens,  but  he  was  a better 
draughtsman,  a truer  colourist  and  a finer  naturalist. 
In  the  opinion  of  the  greatest  critics.  Van  Dyck  occupies 
a place  in  the  annals  of  art  quite  by  himself.  They  do 
not  allow  him  to  stand  with  the  most  mighty  of  the  art 
giants.  Neither  can  they  relegate  him  to  the  second  rank. 
Quite  by  himself,  then,  he  stands,  with  the  eyes  of  the 
world  following  him  perhaps  even  more  than  they  follow 
his  leaders. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


SALLE  VAN  DYCK  AND  GALERIE  RUBENS  — ROOMS  XVII. 

AND  XVIII.  — FLEMISH  SCHOOL 

The  new  Van  Dyck  and  Rubens  rooms  lead  out  from 
the  Grande  Galerie.  On  each  side  of  the  Galerie  Rubens 
are  the  so-called  cabinets  where  are  to  be  found  the  larg- 
est number  of  Dutch  and  Flemish  pictures  owned  by  the 
Louvre. 

One  of  Champaigne’s  most  celebrated  portraits,  that 
of  Cardinal  Richelieu,  is  in  the  Salle  Van  Dyck.  He 
painted  the  prelate-statesman  a number  of  times,  but  this, 
with  the  exception  perhaps  of  that  wonderful  three  heads 
in  one  in  the  National  Gallery,  is  the  greatest  of  all.  He 
stands  in  full  cardinal’s  dress,  the  brilliant  red  satin 
robes  falling  about  him  in  tremendous  amplitude.  The 
white  lace  undersleeves  and  short  overskirt  by  their  very 
whiteness  only  make  more  intense  this  piercing  red. 
The  lights  that  strike  the  edge  of  the  folds,  the  deep 
tones  of  the  under  pleats,  the  shimmering  of  the  surface 
of  the  satin  are  remarkable  brush-work.  But  it  is  in  the 
hands  and  face  of  the  cardinal  that  Champaigne’s  genius 
for  characterization  displays  itself  so  perfectly.  There 
is  perhaps  a trifle  less  suavity  in  the  aristocratic  features 
than  is  felt  in  the  portrait  in  the  National  Gallery.  But 
the  watchful  regard  of  the  eyes,  the  self-contained  ex- 
pression of  the  none  too  thin  lips,  the  smooth  expanse  of 

172 


Salle  IDan  2)scl?  anb  Oalerte  IRubens  173 


the  wide,  high  brow,  as  untroubled  as  it  is  unlined,  and 
finally  the  wonderful  hands,  which,  in  the  nervous  move- 
ment, the  eager  grasp,  the  plausible  gesture,  reveal  most 
plainly  of  all  the  tension  of  mind,  — this  is  Champaigne 
at  his  height  of  expression. 

In  the  Van  Dyck  room  a number  of  the  paintings  by 
Rubens  were  once  a part  of  the  Medici  series  which  he 
painted  for  the  Luxembourg.  Of  these  are  the  Portrait 
of  the  Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany,  father  of  Marie  de 
Medici,  the  Portrait  of  the  Queen’s  Mother,  and  a Por- 
trait of  Marie  de  Medici  herself. 

The  Portrait  of  Baron  Henri  de  Vicq,  ambassador  from 
the  Low  Countries  to  the  court  of  France,  is  one  of  Ru- 
bens’s masterly  works.  It  exhibits  the  baron  almost  in  full 
face,  with  close-cut  moustache  and  beard,  already  gray. 
Otherwise  in  black,  he  wears  about  his  neck  the  full- 
pleated  ruff  of  the  day.  Behind  him  hangs  a red  curtain. 
The  penetrating  eye,  the  firm  facial  muscles,  the  full 
brow,  the  courtly  air,  all  bespeak  the  diplomat,  the  man 
of  the  world.  It  is  painted  with  a fulness  of  colour, 
a limpidity  of  stroke,  characteristic  of  this  painter  whose 
first  strokes  were  also  his  last. 

The  Tourney  in  Front  of  the  Moat  of  a ChMeau,  shows 
six  cavaliers  in  full  armour,  fighting  two  by  two  before 
the  moat.  Two  pages  at  the  left  are  holding  the  extra 
lances  and  picking  up  the  broken  ones.  Two  heralds 
at  the  right  sound  their  horns  and  on  the  same  side, 
occupying  the  second  plane,  is  the  fortified  chateau  sur- 
rounded by  water,  leading  across  which  is  a bridge  to 
the  square  tower  where  floats  the  standard.  In  the 
distance  at  the  left  are  a river  and  fields  with  trees.  The 
sun  is  sinking  and  the  whole  scene  is  flooded  in  a warm 
golden  tone  that  is  translucent  in  its  richness,  full  of 
an  atmospheric  quality  a modern  impressionist  often  fails 


174  Ube  Brt  of  tbe  Xouvre 

to  get.  Here  Rubens  appears  as  a really  great  land- 
scape painter. 

Most  of  the  best  Van  Dycks  are  in  this  room,  and  if  all 
are  not  the  very  greatest  of  his  achievements,  there  are 
many  splendid  examples  of  his  wonderful  skill. 

The  Virgin  and  Child  has  been  said  to  be  a portrait 
group  as  well  as  a religious  painting.  David  is  supposed 
to  represent  the  painter’s  father,  Mary  his  mother,  the 
Magdalene  his  mistress  and  St.  John  himself.  If  the 
others  are  no  more  literal  transcriptions  than  John  is 
of  Van  Dyck,  they  are  by  no  means  impeccable  likenesses. 
In  the  John,  to  be  sure,  may  be  detected  certain  character- 
istics of  Van  Dyck,  — the  broad  brow,  the  deep,  full  eye, 
the  delicate  chin,  — but  of  actual  portraiture  there  is 
comparatively  little. 

Mary  sits  at  the  left,  holding  upon  her  lap  the  child 
Jesus  who  is  supporting  himself  in  his  standing  position 
by  a firm  grasp  of  his  mother’s  veil  and  shoulder.  The 
baby  is  in  profile,  the  mother  turned  three-quarters,  both 
facing  the  group  at  the  right.  Of  this  group  Mary  Mag- 
dalene, in  the  foreground,  is  bending  over  in  adoration, 
holding  her  white  drapery  half  across  her  breast.  Behind 
her  are  King  David,  with  a golden  crown  on  his  gray 
hair,  and  John  the  Baptist,  in  skins,  leaning  on  his 
staff.  Back  of  all  the  sunset  sky  throws  its  glow  across 
the  scene.  Mary,  clad  in  a red  robe,  blue  mantle  and  a 
yellow  veil,  is  older  than  the  Italians  usually  depicted 
her,  but  she  is  a very  beautiful  if  somewhat  Flemish  type. 
There  is  a dignity,  a poise,  a nobility  about  her  lifted  face 
that  Van  Dyck  has  only  rarely  succeeded  in  equalling. 
The  exquisite  colour  of  the  brow,  cheek  and  chin  where 
the  light  strikes  full,  exhales  a purity  and  charm  that  are 
still  more  intensified  by  the  soft  fairness  of  the  baby’s 
flesh.  The  chubbiness  of  his  short  body,  again,  is  more 


Salle  t)an  Bpcl?  anJ)  ©alerte  IRubens  17s 


Dutch  than  Italian.  But  his  face,  with  its  baby  profile 
half  lost  in  the  shadow,  his  fine,  golden  hair,  the  light 
caressing  the  rounded  cheek,  the  tenderness  of  his  grasp 
on  his  mother,  the  intensity  of  his  regard  as  he  gazes 
at  the  Magdalene,  so  baby-like,  and  yet  so  mysterious  in 
its  significance,  this  is  all  marvellous  painting  for  any 
school  or  any  time.  The  voluptuous,  radiant  face  of  the 
Magdalene  is  swept  with  an  expression  of  pain,  of  sor- 
row that  somehow  enhances  her  beauty  and  sanctifies  her 
charms.  King  David’s  lined,  aging  countenance,  and 
the  youthful  face  of  John,  are  as  satisfactory  in  their  own 
way.  The  colour  of  the  whole  picture  is  glowing,  deep, 
rich,  the  touch  fairly  free,  broad,  the  composition  better 
massed  than  Van  Dyck  always  succeeded  in  accomplish- 
ing. The  canvas  was  in  the  collection  of  Louis  XIV.  In 
1710  it  was  at  Versailles  and  in  1747  was  placed  in  the 
Galerie  d’Apollon. 

Of  the  Equestrian  Portrait  of  Frangois  de  Moncade, 
Waagen  says  “ Composition,  drawing,  light,  depth  and 
transparence  of  a warm  colour,  touch  firm  and  spiritual, 
all  contribute  to  make  this  equestrian  portrait  the  most 
beautiful  which  Van  Dyck  has  painted,  and  I do  not  hesi- 
tate to  declare  it  one  of  the  most  beautiful  that  exists.” 
He  is  mounted  on  a white  horse,  turned  three-quarters  to 
the  right,  his  head  bare,  in  armour,  with  a large  white 
collar.  In  his  right  hand  he  carries  the  commander’s 
baton,  and  about  his  left  arm  is  attached  a red  scarf. 
Behind  him  is  a landscape  background. 

The  Portrait  of  Charles-Louis,  Elector  Palatine  of 
Bavaria  with  his  Brother  Robert  who  was  later  made 
Duke  of  Cumberland  by  Charles  L,  is  not  so  masterly 
an  accomplishment  as  the  Moncade  likeness,  but  it  has 
much  spirit  and  character.  The  two  brothers  stand  side 
by  side,  Robert  in  full  face,  Charles  in  three-quarters. 


176 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


Robert  is  in  armour  without  gloves,  a guipure  collar  fall- 
ing over  his  cuirass.  His  left  hand  rests  upon  the  guard 
of  his  sword,  his  right  holds  a baton.  Charles  has  his 
left  hand  upon  his  side,  his  right  on  his  cuirass.  In  the 
background  at  the  right,  is  a wall,  at  the  left  a red  and 
black  curtain,  in  the  centre  a view  of  a landscape. 

Van  Dyck’s  greatest  picture  in  the  Louvre  is  un- 
questionably the  Portrait  of  Charles  I.,  King  of  England, 
as  it  is  also  one  of  the  greatest  that  he  ever  painted.  M. 
Alexandre  calls  it  “ a veritable  bouquet  of  flowers,”  in 
its  arrangement  of  colours.  The  king  stands  on  a rise 
of  ground,  slightly  at  the  left  of  the  picture,  his  body  in 
profile,  his  head  turned  toward  his  left  shoulder,  till  it 
is  in  three-quarters  view.  His  right  hand  is  stretched 
out,  resting  upon  a tall  cane,  his  left,  holding  a glove,  he 
has  placed  upon  his  hip.  Behind  him  at  the  left,  a man, 
said  to  be  the  Marquis  of  Hamilton,  holds  the  king’s 
horse,  which,  only  half-entering  the  picture  is  nervmusly 
pawing  the  ground.  Farther  back  in  the  centre,  a page 
has  his  Majesty’s  cloak  on  his  arm.  A big  tree  at  the  right 
spreads  its  branches  over  the  group  and  a bit  of  sea  at 
the  left  ends  against  a line  of  hills  at  the  horizon. 

The  marquis,  the  horse,  the  page,  are  all  royal  adjuncts 
of  a royal  portrait.  Not  a false  note,  in  arrangement, 
harmony  of  line  and  colour,  in  treatment  of  subsidiaries, 
in  subtlety  of  values  can  be  found.  Van  Dyck  was  always 
at  his  best  in  portraits  of  “ high  life,”  and  here  he  fairly 
outdid  himself.  No  placard  could  make  this  kingly  figure 
more  definitely  royal.  The  bared  heads  of  his  two  attend- 
ants, his  own  big  hat  with  its  drooping  plume,  his  white 
satin  short  coat,  his  red  velvet  trousers  and  buff  leather 
hunting-boots,  even  the  sword  with  its  decorated  shoul- 
der-belt, — none  of  these  kingly  appurtenances  are  needed 
for  label.  Charles  the  First  stands  depicted  with  a 


POKTRAIT  OF  CHART.ES  I. 

By  Van  Dyck 


Salle  Dan  an&  Galerte  IRubens  177 


penetrative  skill  scarcely  ever  attained  by  pen  or  brush. 
Noble  grace,  royal  charm,  kingly  fascination,  — these 
words  seem  only  half  to  express  the  personality  of  the 
sovereign  who  could  do  all  things  well  except  to  rule. 
Much  more  than  this  has  Van  Dyck  expressed  in  this 
portrait.  In  the  long,  delicate  face  with  its  dreamy, 
mournful  eyes,  its  sensitive  lips,  its  wealth  of  curls,  its 
bloom,  that,  so  exquisite,  seems  already  half  evanescent, 
is  felt  a prescience  of  impending  doom,  — and  as  one 
looks  one  never  wonders  at  the  loyalty  the  very  name 
of  Stuart  could  evoke,  a loyalty  that  frailty,  incapacity, 
even  ingratitude  and  lack  of  honour  hardly  ever  weak- 
ened. 

As  a piece  of  technique  this  is  Van  Dyck  at  his  height. 
Ease  of  handling,  an  outline  as  correct  as  it  is  full  of 
grace,  colour  as  transparent  and  pure  as  it  is  brilliant, 
modelling  as  inevitable,  as  sure  as  it  is  telling,  every- 
thing here  proclaims  the  prince  of  the  palette. 

The  Virgin  with  the  Donors  is  one  of  Van  Dyck’s  best 
pictures  of  the  Madonna.  He  showed  her  younger  here 
than  on  the  other  canvas  in  this  room,  and  her  face 
is  tender  and  beautiful  as  is  the  chubby  babe  holding 
his  hand  to  the  man  kneeling  before  him.  This  kneeling 
man  and  wife  are  wonderfully  expressive  as  portraits, 
and  charming  too  are  the  couple  of  little  angels  who  hold 
the  flowers  above  their  heads. 

Van  Dyck’s  Portrait  of  Himself  in  the  Louvre  is  one  of 
many  which  he  painted.  Here  he  appears  already  thin 
and  somewhat  worn,  with  a hint  of  fast  living  shining 
from  his  weary  eyes.  None  the  less  it  is  a beautiful  face 
with  its  slight  moustache  and  soft,  light  curling  hair,  its 
clear-cut  nose  and  rather  ineffectual  chin. 

Twenty-one  of  the  pictures  which  Rubens  painted  for 
Marie  de’  Medici  now  line  the  sides  of  the  Rubens  gallery. 


178 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


For  the  first  time  since  they  were  taken  from  the  Luxem- 
bourg for  whose  decoration  they  were  planned,  can  they 
be  seen  as  Rubens  intended.  Begun  in  1620,  they  were 
finished  in  little  over  two  years.  With  the  exception  of 
the  actual  portraits  in  this  series,  comparatively  little 
of  the  painting  is  by  Rubens’s  hand.  He  got  permission 
from  Marie  de’  Medici  to  execute  the  series  in  his  own 
studio  in  Antwerp.  Here  he  was  surrounded  by  a regular 
school  of  young  artists  who  worked  under  his  guidance 
with  such  absorption  that  they  may  be  said  to  have  out- 
Rubensed  Rubens.  The  general  designs,  the  colour- 
schemes  were  unquestionably  the  master’s  own.  As  has 
been  remarked  it  was  not  possible  for  even  a talented 
pupil  to  reproduce  the  genius  of  Rubens  himself.  It  was 
his  exaggerations  which  they  could  most  easily  grasp 
and  copy.  Consequently  this  series  of  paintings,  great  as 
it  is  in  parts,  is,  as  a whole,  an  exhibition  of  Rubens’s 
art  at  its  most  depraved  state.  Flamboyantly  gorgeous, 
meretriciously  ornate,  vulgarly  brilliant  in  colour,  and 
equally  vulgar  in  form,  they  display  even  worse  taste  in 
their  conglomeration  of  the  mythologic,  the  sacred  and 
the  historic.  The  introduction  of  pagan  deities  and  nude 
nymphs.  Loves  and  naiads  holding  trains,  rowing  boats, 
observing  marriage  ceremonies  of  prince  and  princess 
accurately  arrayed  in  full  court  costume  of  the  time  of 
Louis  XIH.  is  certainly  a degradation  of  the  very 
principles  of  art.  And  yet  it  remains  true,  that,  con- 
sidering the  limitations  under  which  the  decorations 
were  made,  the  execrable  taste  of  the  time,  and  especially 
Marie  de’  Medici’s  demand  for  a magnificence  commen- 
surate with  her  own  exalted  ideas  of  her  position,  con- 
sidering, in  fact,  what  it  was  which  Rubens  attempted 
to  do  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  they  are  more  than 


GALERIE  RUBENS 


Salle  Dan  2>gcft  an&  Galerie  IRubens  179 


successful.  They  are  truly  extraordinary  in  the  gorgeous- 
ness as  a whole  and  in  the  unity  of  their  great  diversity. 

Of  the  entire  series  the  best  are,  The  Birth  of  Louis 
XIII.,  where  the  queen  is  shown  in  the  purity  and  beauty 
of  first  motherhood  with  a tenderness  and  penetration 
that  possibly  may  have  been  wasted  on  this  Italian 
sovereign;  The  Landing  of  the  Queen  at  Marseilles 
where  objection  can  scarcely  be  made  to  the  naiads  who 
have  drawn  her  boat  to  shore,  for  they  are  three  of  the 
most  exquisite  creations  of  the  painter’s  mythologic 
brush ; The  Happiness  of  the  Regency,  which  was 
painted  after  Rubens  reached  Paris  to  superintend  the 
placing  of  the  others  of  the  series,  and  is  thus  more 
nearly  by  his  own  hand.  It  is  one  of  his  charming  impro- 
visations, dashed  off  as  only  Rubens  could  dash  off  a 
sketch,  full  of  life,  colour  and  freedom. 

The  Marriage  at  Florence  showing  Marie  being 
wedded  by  proxy  to  the  French  king  is  another  success- 
ful one,  the  only  solecism  being  that  of  the  half-naked 
boy  bearing  a torch  and  carrying  the  queen’s  train. 
Rubens  himself  was  in  Florence  at  the  time  of  this  mar- 
riage and  it  is  executed  with  a fulness  of  detail  and  a scru- 
pulous fidelity  that  show  how  perfectly  his  memory 
served  him. 

Of  the  whole  line,  however,  it  is  the  Coronation  at  St. 
Denis  that  is  universally  regarded  as  being  not  only  the 
best  of  the  series,  but  one  of  the  really  fine  compositions 
of  Rubens’s  life.  It  represents  the  interior  of  the  cathe- 
dral with  the  queen  kneeling  at  the  foot  of  the  altar, 
before  the  cardinals  and  their  assisting  clergy.  She  is  in 
a gorgeous  state  robe  of  blue  embroidered  with  lilies 
and  lined  with  ermine.  Beside  her  stands  the  Dauphin, 
afterward  Louis  XIIL,  while  above  in  a balcony,  Henri 
IV.  watches  the  scene.  Her  retinue  of  women  is  behind 


i8o  Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 

her  and  in  the  tribunes  and  farther  back  are  members  of 
the  court.  Above,  two  allegorical  figures  bear  palm 
branches  and  scatter  flowers  and  gold  pieces.  The 
splendour  of  the  scene,  the  brilliant  colours  of  the  court 
and  coronation  costume,  the  masterly  grouping,  the 
focusing  of  interest  upon  the  queen,  while  at  the  same 
time  denying  neither  place  nor  importance  to  those  about, 
the  freedom,  the  grand  sweep  of  the  brush-strokes,  all 
this  in  Rubens  goes  without  saying.  But  the  dignity, 
the  queenly  quality,  the  spirit  of  the  kneeling  sovereign, 
are  more  intangible  elements  and  here  they  are  more 
in  evidence  than  in  most  of  the  Medici  series.  It  is  as 
if  Rubens  felt  that  for  the  moment,  as  Cardinal  de  Joyeuse 
places  the  crown  of  France  upon  her  head  she  is  trans- 
formed into  a higher,  nobler  nature.  It  is  just  this  that 
he  has  succeeded  so  well  in  expressing  that  it  requires 
no  stretch  of  imagination  to  see  it  in  the  face  of  the 
kneeling  woman. 

The  others  of  the  huge,  gold-bordered  pictures  need  no 
description.  They  help  to  give  completeness  to  the 
decorative  scheme  and  in  parts  have  both  beauty  and 
power;  but  in  general  they  are  as  overloaded  as  they 
are  gaudy  in  design  and  execution. 


CHAPTER  X. 


SALLES  XIX.  TO  XXXVI.  — FLEMISH  SCHOOL 

The  small  rooms  on  either  side  of  the  Galerie  Rubens 
contain  the  larger  number  of  the  Dutch  and  Flemish 
pictures  owned  by  the  Louvre.  Among  them  are  many 
that  formed  part  of  the  Collection  Lacaze.  Though  the 
two  schools  are  hung  together,  it  will  be  easier,  perhaps, 
to  discuss  them  separately. 

To  continue,  therefore,  with  the  works  of  the  painters 
of  Flanders,  in  Room  XX.  is  the  one  so-called  Van  Eyck 
owned  by  the  museum.  Whether  the  Chancellor  Rollin 
Kneeling  before  the  Virgin  actually  is  a Van  Eyck,  has 
been  doubted.  One  reason  for  this  question  is  that  it 
lacks  the  deep  purple  reds  that  were  usual  to  that  painter. 
It  is  at  any  rate  of  his  school  and  has  many  of  his  char- 
acteristics. 

The  Virgin  is  seen  sitting  at  the  right  in  a balcony  or 
gallery  opening  at  the  back  and  sides  through  arches 
supported  by  delicate  pillars.  She  is  clad  in  a long  full 
red  robe  of  many  folds  with  borders  of  gold  embroidery 
in  which  are  traced  words  from  the  Scriptures,  and  on 
her  knee  is  the  nude  baby  Christ,  whose  wooden,  old- 
looking  body  is  the  poorest  piece  of  work  in  the  picture. 
He  holds  a crystal  globe  surmounted  by  a cross  in  his  left 
hand,  while  with  the  other  he  is  blessing  the  kneeling 
chancellor.  Poised  above  the  Virgin’s  shoulder,  with 

i8i 


i82 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


a jewel-studded  golden  crown  in  her  hands  is  a blue- 
robed  angel  whose  varicoloured  wings  rise  above  her 
in  graceful  curves.  The  donor,  Chancellor  Rollin,  kneels 
opposite  this  group  before  a prie-dieu  on  which  is  an 
open  Bible.  Beyond,  through  the  open  arches,  a wide- 
reaching  landscape  of  plains,  river,  bridge,  houses  and 
trees  is  seen. 

The  microscopical  elaboration  of  detail  in  this  vista  is 
duplicated  by  the  careful  rendering  of  the  tiled  floor  of 
the  gallery,  by  the  worked-out  cornice  and  capitals,  by 
the  brocade  robe  of  the  chancellor  — with  every  golden 
flower  marked  with  exactness  against  the  brown  ground 
— by  Mary’s  yellow  tresses  where  the  individual  hairs 
can  almost  be  counted.  Everywhere  is  shown  this  con- 
sideration for  infinitesimal  detail.  It  is  one  of  the  marks 
of  the  real  greatness  of  the  painter  that  in  spite  of  it, 
the  picture  keeps  a wholeness,  a unity.  This  is  partly 
done  by  a fine  use  of  colour,  and  also  by  Van  Eyck’s  in- 
stinctive  conception  of  the  laws  of  perspective.  It  is  the 
gradations  of  colour  and  tone  in  the  landscape  that 
save  it  from  being  a conglomeration  of  myriads  of 
spots.  To  this  exquisite  colour-sense,  Van  Eyck  joined 
a deep  religious  sentiment  and  a strong  feeling  for  charac- 
terization. The  chancellor  is  as  remarkable  a portrait 
as  Pinturicchio’s  Alexander  VI.  in  the  Vatican.  The 
attitudes  are  not  dissimilar,  and  the  flatly  joined  prayer- 
folded  hands  are  almost  identical  in  placing  and  in 
delicacy  of  construction.  This  donor’s  face,  however, 
with  its  so  evident  wig,  shows  a very  different  character 
from  that  of  the  Roman  pontiff.  The  smooth,  enamel-like 
surface  of  its  modelling  is  as  fresh  and  clear  as  if  painted 
yesterday.  There  is  a solidity  and  massiveness  of  figure 
under  the  rich  robe  that  proves  the  excellent  draughtsman 
Van  Eyck  could  be,  — this  in  spite  of  the  wooden  baby, 


Salles  fUf.  to 


183 

as  out  of  proportion  in  size  as  it  is  in  parts.  Mary  has 
the  long  face  with  the  extremely  high  forehead  of  the 
early  Flemings,  and,  except  for  a sweet  earnestness  and 
her  golden  hair  is  quite  without  beauty. 

Jan  van  Eyck,  the  first  of  the  Flemish  painters  to 
achieve  a world-wide  reputation  has  been  credited  with 
being  the  inventor  of  painting  in  oil.  Though  this  is  not 
strictly  true  he  did  at  least  perfect  certain  methods  of 
working  with  this  medium.  It  is  due  to  his  discovery 
that  tempera  painting  became  more  and  more  infrequent. 
And  it  is  undoubtedly  true  that  the  Italian  painters  owed 
their  knowledge  of  the  new  process  to  him.  Comparing 
Van  Eyck’s  work  with  that  of  Gentile  da  Fabriano,  who 
was  a contemporary,  the  Fleming’s  is  seen  to  have  much 
more  reality,  more  truth  of  construction  and  infinite  more 
love  of  detail.  And  yet  the  detail  in  Van  Eyck’s  work 
distracts  the  eye  from  the  main  point  much  less  than  does 
that  of  Fabriano’s. 

In  the  same  room  are  two  pictures  by  Roger  van  der 
Weyden,  up  to  1846  known  as  Roger  of  Bruges.  He 
resembles  both  Hubert  and  Jan  van  Eyck,  and  has  been 
supposed  to  be  a pupil  of  the  younger  brother,  but  this 
is  probably  untrue.  Doctor  Waagen  says  of  him  that 
his  “ too  exclusive  aim  at  truth  led  Roger  van  der 
Weyden  occasionally  to  represent  the  tasteless  and  the 
disagreeable.  Thus,  his  nude  is  meagre,  his  fingers  too 
long,  his  feet,  especially  in  his  earlier  works,  ill-formed.” 
In  colouring  he  is  better.  Though  he  does  not  rise  to  the 
richness  and  intensity  of  Van  Eyck,  he  has  a great  deal 
of  brilliancy  and  strength.  His  flesh-tones  were  at  first 
mellow  and  golden,  later  they  became  colder.  His 
influence,  and  thus  through  him,  the  influence  of  the 
Van  Eycks,  spread  all  over  Germany,  and  the  strictly 
realistic  type  that  prevailed  there  may  be  traced  directly 


184 


Ube  art  of  tbe  Xouvre 


to  his  teachings.  None  of  his  best-known  works  are 
at  the  Louvre. 

The  Virgin  and  Child  is  a small  picture  with  gold 
background.  It  represents  the  Virgin  on  a sort  of  ledge- 
like seat  in  a niche  squarely  framed  with  simple  gold 
moulding.  She  is  offering  her  breast  to  the  child  whom 
she  holds  on  her  left  knee.  He  is  not  exactly  seated  on 
this  knee,  however,  and  the  actual  construction  of  his 
little  naked  body  is  hardly  more  successful.  Neither  is 
his  face  a type  of  childish  beauty.  Nevertheless  there 
are  an  earnestness  and  sincerity  of  purpose  very  appar- 
ent in  the  careful  rendering.  Mary’s  face  is  much  more 
lovely.  The  broad  forehead,  eyes  wide  apart,  delicate 
nose  and  tender  mouth  are  typically  Flemish,  yet  they 
seem  to  prefigure  the  Fra  Lippo  type  of  Italy.  The  body 
is  much  poorer  in  construction  than  the  head.  The  shoul- 
ders are  far  too  narrow,  the  hand  too  long  and  illy  joined, 
there  is  in  fact,  no  perceptible  body  under  the  long  red 
robe.  It  is  not  strange  that  the  baby  does  not  sit  on 
her  knees,  for  there  are  really  no  knees  to  hold  him ! 

The  Descent  from  the  Cross  is  a more  important,  but 
in  some  respects  an  even  more  archaic  work  than  the 
other.  In  front  of  the  cross  Mary  sits  holding  on  her 
knees  the  figure  of  her  son,  who  is  nude  save  for  a bit 
of  drapery  about  his  loins.  Beside  her  kneels  St.  John, 
drawing  a piece  of  drapery  under  the  head  of  his  dead 
master.  Mary  Magdalene  kneels  at  the  left,  farther  back. 
Beyond  lie  Jerusalem,  a hill,  a lake  and  distant  moun- 
tains. Mary  is  distinctly  the  best  figure  of  the  group. 
Though  she  has  no  shoulders  under  her  blue  robes,  nor 
very  little  shape  of  any  kind.  Van  der  Weyden  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  a face  that  is  remarkably  expressive  and 
well  drawn.  There  is  a real  tenderness,  a restrained 
sorrow  about  her  drooped  lids  and  trembling  mouth  that 


Salles  fUf.  to  ffflDH.  iSs 

remains  in  the  mind  long  after  the  more  evident  grief  of 
the  Magdalene  or  that  of  John  has  been  forgotten.  Mary 
Magdalene,  by  false  perspective,  though  supposed  to 
be  farther  back  in  the  plane  of  the  picture  than  is  the 
Virgin,  is  brought  into  the  immediate  foreground.  Her 
brilliant  red  dress  and  yellow  sleeves,  green  cloak  and 
white  draped  cap,  make  her  all  the  more  prominent. 
John  has  an  air  of  deep  solicitude  and  sympathy  touch- 
ingly hinted  at  in  the  way  his  eyes  linger  on  the  Virgin. 
The  dead  Christ  is  of  course  a marvel  of  ill-drawing,  and 
as  in  the  German  and  early  Italian  Pietas,  his  emaciation, 
and  all  the  terrible  insignia  of  his  suffering  are  insisted 
upon  with  a total  disregard  of  truth  of  construction  or 
perspective. 

Van  der  Weyden  is  supposed  to  be  the  teacher  of  Hans 
Memling,  or  Memlinc,  as  it  was  probably  spelled  in  his 
day.  He  is  the  great  glory  of  the  school  of  Bruges  and 
it  is  there  he  must  be  seen  really  to  be  known.  His 
highest  triumphs  are  in  religious  paintings,  though  some 
of  his  portraits  do  not  lack  strength  or  individuality.  He 
had  a grace,  an  expressiveness,  and  a sweetness  of  ren- 
dering women’s  faces  never  equalled  in  the  early  Flemish 
school.  His  landscapes  too,  were  not  only  minute,  truthful 
and  real,  but  they  were  treated  as  the  setting  for  his 
figures  and  scenes  in  a way  none  of  his  contemporaries 
achieved.  “ His  Virgins,”  says  one  critic,  “ are  not 
simply  the  real  and  mundane  portraits  of  the  ladies  of  his 
time  — they  embody  purity  of  expression,  celestial  sim- 
plicity, peace  and  an  ineffable  charm.”  If  not  among  his 
finest  works  the  pictures  by  Memlinc  in  the  Louvre  are 
sufficiently  good  to  give  a fair  idea  of  this  painter’s  style. 
All,  with  the  exception  of  one,  are  in  Salle  XX. 

The  Mystic  Marriage  of  St.  Catherine  was  painted 
about  1475.  It  is  a diptych  and  though  for  long  the  leaves 


i86 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


were  apart,  it  has  now  been  reunited.  On  the  dexter  leaf 
the  Virgin  is  shown  seated  in  a meadow  with  the  child 
Jesus  on  her  lap  surrounded  by  six  saints,  three  on  each 
side,  and  in  the  sky  far  above  are  three  angels  playing 
on  flutes.  Behind  the  Virgin  is  a bank  with  a trellis  of 
roses,  and  on  each  side  is  a symmetrical  sort  of  arbour 
of  trees,  opening  in  the  centre  to  display  a distant  land- 
scape of  widening  stream  and  low  banks  and,  against  the 
horizon,  a high  peaked  mountain.  The  Virgin  is  clad 
in  blue  and  sits  with  eyes  downcast  holding  the  child  in 
her  hands.  He  has  turned  toward  the  left  and  is  reach- 
ing down  to  place  a ring  on  the  Anger  of  St.  Catherine, 
who  is  seated  at  the  feet  of  the  Virgin  in  the  left  of  the 
immediate  foreground,  arrayed  in  a rich  golden  brocade 
gown  with  red  velvet  waist.  Her  left  hand  rests  on  an 
open  book  on  her  knees  and  from  under  her  full  draperies 
appear  the  wheel  and  the  sword.  Opposite  her  kneels 
St.  Barbara,  in  red,  holding  a book.  At  the  Virgin’s  left, 
behind  St.  Barbara,  are  St.  Margaret  with  the  head  of 
the  dragon  at  her  knees  and  St.  Lucy  bearing  a dish  con- 
taining two  eyes.  Facing  these  are  St.  Agnes  with  her 
lamb  and  St.  Cecilia  with  her  little  organ.  These  four 
saints  are  dressed  in  the  brilliant  clear  colours  usual  to  the 
early  religious  painters,  and  they  still  retain  their  original 
freshness  of  tone.  The  three  angels  in  the  sky  are 
delicately  drawn  and  really  seem  to  float  in  the  ether. 
All  of  the  saints  are  differentiated  by  subtle  changes  of 
expression  that  give  to  each  a decided  and  charming 
individuality.  With  no  attempt  at  shadow,  their  faces 
and  forms  are  yet  carefully  modelled,  and  in  spite  of 
certain  hesitances  and  inaccuracies  present  an  appear- 
ance of  reality.  The  Virgin  and  child  are  no  less  success- 
ful. Better  anatomically  than  in  either  \^an  der  Weyden’s 
or  Van  Eyck’s  pictures  is  the  little  nude  Jesus,  and  there 


Salles  fUf.  to  f 


187 


is  a sweet  maternity  and  yet  a cloistral  virginity  about 
the  girl-mother  that  neither  of  the  other  men  so  well 
expressed.  The  composition  is  somewhat  formal  but 
is  naturally  composed. 

On  the  other  leaf  is  the  Portrait  of  the  Donor  of  the 
Picture,  John  du  Celier,  who  was  one  of  the  guild  of 
Merchant  Grocers,  at  that  time  a very  rich  guild  in 
Bruges.  He  is  in  a robe  lined  with  fur  and  kneels  on  the 
ground,  his  hands  met  in  prayer.  His  patron  saint,  John 
the  Baptist,  is  behind  him,  one  hand  on  the  merchant’s 
shoulder,  the  other  pointing  to  the  Son.  The  foreground 
is  a field  where  wild  flowers  and  plants  are  growing  in 
profusion.  A winding  stream  in  front  of  a band  of 
trees  separates  this  scene  from  the  ones  in  the  back- 
ground. These  are  incidents  from  the  lives  of  St.  George 
and  St.  John  and  have  become  greatly  obliterated  from 
the  ravages  of  time. 

The  two  shutters,  St.  John  the  Baptist,  and  Mary 
Magdalene,  had  once  a centre  portion  whose  very  subject 
is  forgotten.  They  were  in  Prince  Lucien  Bonaparte’s 
collection  and  afterward  were  owned  by  William  II.  of 
Holland.  The  two  here  are  the  fronts  of  the  complete 
shutters,  sawn  apart  no  one  knows  when.  The  Louvre 
bought  them  in  1851  for  eleven  thousand  seven  hundred 
and  twenty-eight  francs.  The  backs  of  the  shutters  repre- 
sented Saints  Stephen  and  Christopher.  Of  the  ones  in 
the  Louvre,  the  St.  John  is  on  the  dexter  panel.  Qad 
in  a camel’s  skin,  he  stands  in  a meadow  that  slopes  back 
and  upwards  to  a river  with  high  banks  on  which  is 
a palace  where  Herodias’s  daughter  is  dancing  and  where 
in  the  courtyard  St.  John  is  beheaded.  At  the  foot  of  the 
hill  is  John  baptizing  Jesus,  and  again  he  is  shown 
pointing  out  the  master  to  the  disciples.  This  placing 
in  the  background  of  different  scenes  occurring  at  dif- 


i88  zbc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 

ferent  times  was  characteristic  of  Memlinc  as  of  the  early 
Italians. 

On  the  opposite  panel,  Mary  Magdalene  stands  also  in 
a landscape.  She  is  dressed  in  a brocaded  gown  of  red 
and  gold  with  a mantle  of  violet.  In  her  right  hand 
she  carries  a pot  of  ointment.  Behind  in  the  distance, 
she  is  seen  wiping  her  Lord’s  feet  in  Simon’s  house,  again 
she  is  watching  the  raising  of  Lazarus,  and  once  more 
she  appears  under  some  trees  kneeling  at  the  feet  of  the 
risen  Saviour.  Still  farther  back  on  the  side  of  a moun- 
tain is  the  entrance  to  a cave,  and  above  it  two  angels 
carry  the  saint  to  heaven.  In  each  of  these  panels  the 
foreground  is  full  of  flowering  shrubs  and  plants.  Both 
are  wonderfully  finished  and  the  character  of  both  heads 
is  vividly  depicted.  St.  John  has  a strength,  a ruggedness, 
and  a strained  expression  that  tells  of  his  strenuous  life, 
and  in  Mary  Magdalene  both  softness  and  intelligence 
appear  in  her  really  beautiful  countenance. 

Whereas  Memlinc  may  be  called  the  last  of  the  pure 
Gothic  painters,  to  adopt  M.  Alexandre’s  title  for  the 
earliest  Flemish  painters,  Quentin  hlatsys,  says  M.  Alex- 
andre again,  is  the  first  of  the  great  moderns.  “ He  was 
the  rising,  as  Rubens  was  the  setting  sun  of  Antwerp.” 
Already  in  his  works  can  be  seen  the  influence  of  the 
Italians,  though  it  is  not  known  if  he  ever  visited  Italy. 
This  Italian  influence  is  not  always  present,  however,  for 
at  times  he  is  as  truly  Gothic  as  hlemlinc  himself. 
Generally,  the  two  influences  are  fused  in  a whole  where 
neither  can  be  separated  from  the  other.  He  stands  as 
it  were  midway  between  Van  Eyck  and  Rubens.  In  his 
compositions  are  signs  of  the  Acridity,  richness  and 
magnificence  that  make  those  of  the  later  master  such 
glowing  splendours  of  art.  Where  hlatsys  acquired  the 
training  that  made  him  the  artist  he  became,  is  not 


Salles  fUf,  to  fffM.  189 

definitely  known.  It  is  at  least  certain  that  he  did  not 
in  six  months  turn  from  a blacksmith  to  an  accomplished 
painter,  all  for  love  of  an  artist’s  daughter  whose  father 
had  sworn  that  she  should  marry  only  a man  of  his  own 
profession. 

The  two  pictures  by  Matsys  in  Salle  XX.  are  of  very 
unequal  merit.  In  the  portrait-genre  piece  The  Banker 
and  His  Wife,  he  is  not  far  from  his  best.  Sitting  side 
by  side  behind  a counter,  are  the  banker  and  his  wife,  he 
counting  and  weighing  his  coins,  she  turning  over  the 
leaves  of  an  illuminated  book,  but  pausing  for  a moment’s 
look  at  her  husband’s  employment.  Behind  them  are 
two  shelves,  holding  a glass  bottle,  an  orange,  a pair  of 
scales,  books  and  papers.  Before  them,  besides  the  gold 
pieces,  are  an  open,  silk  purse  filled  with  pearls,  a line 
of  rings  run  on  a roll  of  paper,  and  a small  round  mirror 
in  which  is  reflected  a window,  the  head  and  shoulders 
of  a man  reading  by  it,  and  through  the  window  trees 
and  a tower.  All  these  accessories  are  done  with  the 
painstaking,  accurate  brush  of  the  Low  Countries.  But 
how  admirably  they  keep  their  place ! It  is  only  by  close 
scrutiny  that  they  can  be  noticed  or  enumerated.  The 
whole  attention  is  riveted  exactly  where  it  was  intended 
it  should  be,  — directly  upon  the  man  and  woman  them- 
selves. The  man  has  a big  full-rolled  cap  with  a cape 
hanging  from  it,  and  a blue  coat  with  fur  about  the 
neck  and  cuffs.  His  whole  mind  is  absorbed  in  count- 
ing and  weighing  his  treasure,  and  the  skilful,  slender 
fingers  seem  made  for  the  careful  task.  His  face  is 
strongly  marked  and  lined,  his  eyes  deep  set,  his  nose 
long  and  high  in  bone,  his  mouth  fully  curved  but  firm. 
It  is  not  the  miser  who  is  here  portrayed,  but  the  success- 
ful, cautious  business  man,  and  it  is  evident  that  it  is 
as  capital  a likeness  as  it  is  a capitally  drawn  visage.  His 


igo 


Zbc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


wife,  who  sits  close  by  on  his  left,  is  a quiet,  placid,  lady- 
like soul,  viewing  the  pieces  of  money  with  not  too  great 
an  interest.  She  is  much  more  attracted  by  missals  than 
by  shining  doubloons.  Her  dress  is  red  and  the  cover  of 
the  counter  is  green,  the  colours  of  the  picture  therefore 
bright,  pictorial.  But  it  is  his  characterization  of  the 
two  people  and  the  freedom  of  his  drawing  and  excel- 
lence of  modelling  that  make  this  what  it  is,  a really 
splendid  group. 

The  Blessing  Christ,  is  far  less  satisfactory.  There  is 
nothing  about  it  that  marks  it  as  anything  but  a very 
mediocre  work. 

In  Room  XXL  both  Peter  Breughel,  the  elder,  and 
Velvet  Breughel  his  son  have  examples  of  their  works. 
Velvet  Breughel  as  well  has  several  in  Room  XXXV. 
Peter  Breughel  was  very  unlike  his  son  both  in  his  man- 
ner of  working  and  in  the  subjects  he  chose  to  portray. 
Though  he  studied  in  Italy,  he  was  never  Italianized, 
and  as  a Flemish  painter  he  stands  quite  apart  as  truly 
as  Jan  Steen  does  among  the  Dutch.  Not  so  great  a 
humourist,  he  was  a true  observer,  a wise  thinker,  a 
brilliant  raconteur,  a keen  satirist.  If  at  times  in  his  tran- 
scriptions of  peasant  life  he  was  both  rude  and  even 
vulgar,  he  redeems  those  faults  by  a spirit,  a life,  vigour 
of  thought  and  an  intense  reality. 

The  Reunion  of  the  Mendicants  has  been  called  by 
Mantz  “ a veritable  chef-d’oeuvre.”  It  shows  a party  of 
five  cripples  in  a garden  marching  painfully  along  on 
their  crutches.  They  are  dressed  in  ridiculous  costumes 
ornamented  with  foxtails  and  with  hats  in  the  form  of 
mitres.  At  the  back  is  a wall  of  bricks.  These  cripples 
are  vividly  portrayed,  not  a disagreeable  spared,  and  yet 
the  picture  is  amusing  rather  than  repulsive. 

The  Parable  of  the  Blind  is  one  of  his  more  serious 


THE  BANKER  AND  HIS  WIFE 

By  Matsys 


Salles  to  fJfM, 


191 

and  stronger  works.  For  it  is  not  alone  with  mirth  that 
this  painter  dwells.  Alexandre’s  description  of  it  is  so 
striking  that  it  is  worth  giving  entire.  After  stating 
that  it  is  a repetition  in  oil  of  one  in  tempera  at  the  Naples 
museum,  he  goes  on : “ The  amplitude  of  the  design,  and 
of  the  movement  of  that  line  of  blind  men,  who,  holding 
each  by  the  other,  seem  about  to  fall  into  the  ditch  yawn- 
ing at  the  feet  of  the  first  one  of  the  queue,  the  extraor- 
dinary conception  of  those  heads  with  the  non-seeing 
eyes,  so  real  and  so  dreadful ; the  beauty  of  the  harmo- 
nious colouring  with  its  greens,  grays,  browns  and  reds ; 
the  magnificent  landscape,  so  powerful,  so  immense,  so 
full  of  unexpected  detail ; this  it  is  that  makes  one 
realize  how  great  he  was  as  man  and  painter.” 

In  Salle  XXXV.  Snyders  has  a picture  far  removed 
from  the  tremendous  battles  and  conflicts  he  so  often 
painted.  Even  in  this,  however,  which  is  named  Dogs 
in  a Larder,  the  two  snarling  dogs  and  the  glaring  cat 
in  the  background  give  an  intensity  and  a passion  that 
proclaim  it  truly  a Snyders.  Standing  on  his  hind  legs 
with  his  forepaws  on  a small  square  table,  the  dog  at  the 
left  is  devouring  one  of  the  pieces  of  meat  that  forms  part 
of  the  pile  of  legs  of  mutton,  asparagus  and  artichokes. 
In  the  centre,  half  under  the  table,  another  dog  has  his 
forefeet  on  a bone,  which  he  guards  with  an  angry  show 
of  teeth  from  the  third  canine.  This  last  is  at  the  right, 
legs  far  apart,  head  down,  as  near  to  the  coveted  morsel 
as  he  dare  venture.  His  raised  upper  lip,  the  gleam  in 
his  furtive  eye,  the  whole  snarling,  sneaking  brute  is 
expressed  with  a snap  and  vigour  till  one  expects  actually 
to  hear  the  vicious  barks.  Through  an  open  door  at 
the  left,  a cat  is  seen  curled  up  on  the  table.  Her  own 
evident  fright,  detestation  and  spite  fairly  send  sparks 
from  the  starting  eyes. 


192 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


Older  by  a quarter  of  a century  than  Snyders  was 
Adriaen  Brauwer,  who  can  be  claimed  by  both  Dutch 
and  Flemish  schools.  He  studied  under  Hals  at  Haarlem, 
but  afterward  worked  mostly  in  Antwerp.  He  has  been 
reviled  as  being  a worse  toper  than  his  worst  pictures 
indicated.  There  is  comparatively  little  known  about 
him  even  yet,  but  enough  to  indicate  that  this  tale  is 
a gross  exaggeration.  Certainly  he  was  a great  friend 
of  Rubens  and  Rembrandt,  both  of  whom  owned  paint- 
ings by  him  and  esteemed  them  highly.  Rubens,  it  has 
been  pointed  out,  was  too  correct  in  his  own  life  to  have 
been  intimate  with  the  carouser  Brauwer  has  been  con- 
sidered. Waagen  says  of  his  pictures  that  “ they  display 
a singular  power  of  keeping,  a delicate  and  harmonious 
colouring,  which  inclines  to  the  cool  shade,  an  admirable 
individuality,  and  a sfiimato  of  surface  in  which  he  is  un- 
excelled.” The  Louvre  had  nothing  worth  calling  his  till 
the  Collection  Lacaze  came  to  it.  There  are  several 
panels  in  that  that  show  him  somewhere  near  his  best. 
Probably  the  most  generally  known  is  the  one  called 
The  Smoker  in  Salle  XXXIV.  This  originally  form.ed 
part  of  a series  of  five  pictures,  called  The  Five  Senses. 

It  is  merely  the  head  and  bust  of  a man,  including, 
however,  his  right  and  part  of  his  left  hand.  Grasping 
a bottle  of  liquor  in  both  hands  along  with  his  clay  pipe 
which  is  still  smoking,  this  rough-looking  indiHdual  is 
portrayed  with  wide-open  eyes  and  stretched,  cavern-like 
mouth  out  of  which  are  iscuing  clouds  of  smoke.  His 
bushy,  tousled  hair  hangs  over  his  face  and  on  to  his 
shoulders,  his  collar  is  careless,  the  general  air  is  that 
of  a roisterer.  And  that  is  undoubtedly  just  what 
Brauwer  intended  him  to  appear.  It  is  quite  impossible 
to  look  at  the  silly,  distorted  face  without  laughing,  even 
if  the  observer  is  a teetotaler  or  belongs  to  an  anti- 


Salles  flFf,  to 


193 


smokers’  league.  And  like  everything  Brauwer  touched, 
there  are  individuality,  expression,  intense  life,  and  a 
masterly  brush  shown  over  every  inch  of  the  picture. 

Brauwer  is  much  less  well  known  than  Teniers  and 
left  far  fewer  works  behind  him.  But  competent  critics 
acknowledge  him  a greater  master  in  the  same  field. 
The  Operation,  in  the  same  room  as  The  Smoker  is  an- 
other most  characteristic,  realistic  work,  in  which  he 
shows  that  broad,  full  hand  that  learned  its  lesson  well 
under  the  instruction  of  Frans  Hals. 

The  Duo  in  the  next  room,  by  Teniers,  is  a delightful 
bit,  simple  as  it  is  amusing,  full  of  reality  and  life  as  it  is 
of  observation.  At  the  left  an  old  man  seated  on  a 
wooden  chair  is  vigorously  playing  a violin,  while  by  his 
side,  filling  the  right  of  the  picture  sits  his  wife,  holding 
a sheet  of  music  in  her  hands  and  singing  bravely  the 
while  she  watches  her  lord  and  master.  The  man  wears 
a red  velvet  jacket  and  gray  trousers,  a blue  hat  with 
a long,  slender  plume,  and  the  gaiety  of  his  clothes  is 
emphasized  by  his  own  lively  expression  and  the  energy 
with  which  he  marks  time  with  his  left  foot  which  is  rest- 
ing, toes  up,  on  the  stool  before  him.  His  wife  has  a blue 
dress  and  a white  cap.  Perhaps  the  first  impression  at 
seeing  this  bit  of  genre,  is  an  amused  surprise  that  this 
hard-working  old  couple  have  either  leisure  or  taste  for 
the  fine  arts ! 

Among  others  by  Van  der  Meulen  in  Room  XXX VIL, 
is  The  View  of  Dinant.  Though  it  is  called  the  siege  and 
taking  of  Dinant,  there  is  so  little  sign  of  hostility  on 
the  part  of  the  amiable-looking  cavalcade  advancing 
toward  it,  or  of  active  preparations  of  defence  by  the 
walled  town  that  it  is  difficult  to  associate  battle  or  bom- 
bardment with  the  scene.  The  colouring  is  warm  and 
harmonious  if  darkened.  At  the  left  in  the  foreground 


194 


Ube  Hrt  ot  tbe  ^Louvre 


is  a company  of  mounted  officers,  the  central  one  of  whom 
is  supposed  to  be  the  Marquis  de  Rochefort.  They 
are  at  the  end  of  a long  line  of  troops,  the  first  of  which, 
winding  down  the  hills  and  across  the  plain,  have  almost 
reached  the  town  on  the  Meuse.  Above  the  village  is  the 
castle,  high  on  a precipitous  clif¥,  and  below  the  river  runs 
diagonally  across  the  picture.  The  rocky  region,  with  its 
sparse  vegetation,  the  opposite  shore  with  its  admirable 
distance,  the  scattered  habitations,  all  are  rendered  with 
a realistic  if  conventional  touch. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


SALLES  XIX.  TO  XXXVI.  — DUTCH  SCHOOL 

In  Salle  XXXIV.  are  two  portraits  of  women  by  Jan 
van  Ravestein,  the  Dutch  painter,  who,  with  the  exception 
of  Hals  and  Rembrandt  was  scarcely  ever  equalled  as  a 
portrait-painter  in  his  country.  There  is  a largeness,  a 
truth,  a brilliancy  and  a style  to  this  man’s  work  that, 
though  not  seen  at  the  Louvre  anywhere  near  at  their 
height,  are  at  least  intimated  in  these  Dutch  women.  It 
is  in  the  Hague  where  he  is  best  represented  with  his 
great  corporation  pictures  as  well  as  with  his  splendid 
portraits  of  men.  He  has  not  quite  the  dash,  surety  and 
ease  of  brush-work  that  distinguish  Hals,  but  his  tech- 
nique is  free,  full  and  certain  and  his  colour  is  equal  to 
Hals  at  his  best.  He  reminds  one,  perhaps,  of  Van  Dyck, 
both  in  brush-work  and  in  colour. 

These  two  excellent  portraits  would  attract  far  more 
attention  were  they  not  so  near  the  famous  Bohemian 
Girl  of  Frans  Hals.  This  picture  widely  as  it  is  known 
and  admired,  critics  generally  regard  as  not  one  of  his 
very  greatest  works.  It  has  nevertheless,  some  of  the 
most  noted  and  fascinating  characteristics  of  Hals.  The 
broad  freedom  of  the  brush-work,  the  way  he  has  ex- 
pressed the  gay  insouciance  of  the  smiling  face,  — its 
abandonment  to  untrammelled  jollity,  with  a sort  of 
whole-hearted  ignoring  of  any  unpleasant  consequences, 

*95 


196 


Ube  Hrt  ot  tbe  Xouvre 


— the  art  that  can  so  paint  a smile  that  it  does  not  grow 
wearisome,  all  this  and  more  are  in  this  gipsy  maiden 
who  looks  out  so  gaily  from  the  rough  tangle  of  her 
shadowing  hair.  It  is  a picture  that  makes  the  most 
fastidious  smile  in  sympathy  and  puts  one  at  once  so 
in  tune  with  the  universe  that  almost  one  is  ready  to 
smile  good-naturedly  with  her  at  the  whole  huge  joke 
of  living. 

The  other  Portrait  of  a Woman  by  Hals  in  the  same 
room  is  very  different  both  in  character  and  technique. 
She  is  of  the  bourgeois  class,  and  is  represented  stand- 
ing turned  toward  the  left,  her  hands  crossed  at  her 
waist.  Her  close-fitting  cap,  deep  plain  collar  and  cuffs  are 
white,  her  dress  a sombre  black.  Though  lacking  some 
of  the  brilliant  colouring  and  esprit  of  his  most  successful 
canvases,  this  has  a truth,  a sobriety,  and  a fine  sense  of 
values  that  would  make  a triumph  for  any  man  who 
had  not  achieved  so  much  more. 

Of  yet  another  calibre  is  the  Portraits  of  the  Van 
Beresteyn  Family,  in  Salle  XXH.  This  is  a picture  of 
father,  mother,  six  children  and  two  nurses.  They  are 
seated  under  the  branches  of  a tree  in  the  midst  of  an 
indeterminate  landscape.  Hals  paid  as  little  attention 
to  that  as  he  did  to  the  compositional  lines  of  this  picture 
as  a whole.  At  the  extreme  left  paterfamilias  sits  cross- 
legged  on  a slight  hillock,  his  left  arm  thrown  around 
his  wife’s  shoulder.  She  is  sitting  a little  lower  down 
on  the  ground  beside  him,  and  behind  her  stands  one  of 
the  nurses  pulling  some  cherries  from  the  branch  over 
her  head  for  the  small  boy  next  his  mother.  His  smiling 
profile,  as  he  raises  his  hands  in  anticipation,  is  charm- 
ingly frank  and  boyish.  Slightly  below  him  a small 
daughter  kneels  with  her  mother’s  arm  about  her  w^ist, 
while  she  reaches  up  a bunch  of  flowers  to  her  father. 


BOHEMIAN  GIRL 

By  Frans  Hals 


Salles  fifj*  to  f 


197 


This  group  has  a certain  continuity  of  interest  that,  if 
loosely,  still  does  hold  it  together.  At  the  right  on  the 
same  plane,  is  the  other  nurse,  one  small  child  in  her 
arms  and  clasping  the  wrist  of  another  standing  beside 
her.  In  front  of  them  a third  tiny  maiden  is  sitting  flat 
on  the  ground  picking  flowers,  while  the  fourth  infant 
looks  out  from  behind  the  nurse.  As  a composition  this 
picture  has  little  or  no  merit.  As  a portrait  group  of  ten 
people  it  is  a marvellous  production.  With  the  exception 
of  the  father  and  mother,  every  face  is  smiling,  each 
countenance  fairly  bubbling  over  with  mirth.  The  elder 
ones  too,  if  more  sedate,  express  an  equal  pleasure.  The 
picture  was  painted  before  1630  and  is  consequently 
considered  to  be  in  his  first  manner.  He  has  paid  great 
attention  to  the  rich  brocades,  silks,  velvets  and  laces  that 
clothe  these  patrician  sitters  of  his,  but  glowing  as  are 
the  colours  and  highly  wrought  as  are  the  stuffs  and 
laces,  they  never  obtrude  to  the  detriment  or  eclipse 
of  the  speaking  faces.  The  painting  has  been  badly  re- 
stored, the  child  on  the  far  right  seeming  to  be  almost 
entirely  by  another  hand. 

The  separate  portraits  of  Nicholas  Van  Beresteyn  and 
his  wife  represent  Hals  at  an  even  higher  plane  than  does 
the  family  group.  They  stand  in  their  respective  frames 
facing  each  other.  Nicholas  is  turned  toward  the  right, 
his  wife  to  the  left.  Frau  Van  Beresteyn  has  her  right 
hand  resting  on  the  top  of  a carved  chair,  the  other 
hanging  closed  by  her  side.  The  husband’s  left  hand 
which  holds  his  hat  rests  on  a table  before  him,  his  right 
is  doubled  up  against  his  hip.  They  are  in  gala  attire, 
with  wonderful  ruches  edged  with  pointed  lace,  and  deep 
plaited  muslin  cuffs  elaborately  trimmed  with  lace.  Frau 
Van  Beresteyn  has  a splendid  cap  that  encircles  her  head 
with  its  lace  border  sticking  out  like  an  aureole.  Both 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


198 

are  in  rich  brocades,  the  wife  with  a deep  embroidered 
stomacher.  The  drawing  of  their  hands,  the  modelling 
of  the  flesh,  the  individuality  of  the  faces,  the  clear 
transparence  of  the  “ carnations,”  the  mastery  of  the 
technicalities  of  robes  and  stuffs,  — all  this  makes  a re- 
markable pair  of  portraits. 

The  lack  of  compositional  unity  apparent  in  the  family 
group  of  the  Van  Beresteyns  was  a characteristic  failing 
of  Frans  Hals.  It  is  only  as  a portrait-painter  that  he 
can  rank  among  the  great  painters  of  the  world.  In  this 
line,  even  if  he  rests  content  with  portraying  simply  what 
he  saw  on  the  surface,  and  thus  proves  himself  to 
possess  less  imagination,  less  depth  than  Rembrandt ; if 
he  has  on  the  whole  a less  brilliant,  scintillating  palette 
than  Velasquez,  or  even  than  Rubens  or  Van  Dyck,  — in 
his  own  way,  within  his  own  self-imposed  limitations, 
he  is  as  great  as  any  painter  that  ever  lived,  in  certain 
ways  greater.  No  other  man  ever  so  completely  revelled 
in  painting  as  painting.  No  one  else  ever  expressed  such 
a joy  in  brush-work  that  he  made  the  mere  manipulation 
of  pigments  a great  art.  It  is  perhaps  this  manipulation 
that  differentiates  Hals  from  all  other  painters.  In 
breadth,  in  freedom,  in  dash,  in  surety,  in  fulness,  in 
plastic  power,  in  any  one  of  these  attributes  he  has  been 
equalled,  perhaps  excelled.  But  no  one  has  had  all  of 
them  developed  to  such  a tremendous  height  as  he  had 
them.  And,  as  critics  have  not  failed  to  point  out,  he 
copied  nobody’s  method.  He  w'^s  influenced  neither  by 
his  contemporaries  nor  by  the  men  of  the  past.  Besides 
the  technical  wonders  his  brush  achieved,  its  greatest 
marvel  is  its  perfect  adaptability  to  the  subjects  he 
depicted.  Those  beaming,  buxom  Dutch  girls,  those  smil- 
ing, well-nourished,  care-free  matrons,  those  joking, 
laughing,  broad-faced  cavaliers,  or  tavern-keepers,  — 


Salles  fUf.  to  fffM. 


199 


what  other  touch,  what  other  brush  ever  half  so  well  ex- 
pressed them?  Frans  Hals  painted  in  a flat,  unforced 
light,  choosing  neither  a shadow-lurking  studio,  nor  the 
outdoor  glare  for  his  sitters.  He  is  thus  less  concerned 
with  atmosphere  or  artificially  lighted  surroundings  than 
he  is  with  local  colour  and  values.  And  no  one  has  ever 
had  a keener  sense  of  values  or  expressed  them  with 
freer,  flatter  tones.  In  the  beginning  his  colour  was  some- 
what brown  in  the  flesh-tones.  In  the  height  of  his 
powers  it  was  clear,  brilliant,  pulsating ; in  his  old 
age  it  grew  much  grayer  till  finally  it  became  almost 
monochromatic.  But  even  at  the  very  end  of  his  long 
life  he  never  lost  his  wonderful  sense  of  values. 

Not  much  younger  than  Hals  was  Poelenburgh  whose 
pictures  in  Salle  XXH.  show  him  to  have  been  in  his 
own  way  also  an  originator.  He  was  a great  favourite 
with  Charles  I.  of  England,  and  if  his  technique  suggests 
in  its  finish  Dou  or  Metsu,  his  colour-scheme  was  dif- 
ferent and  he  may  be  said  to  have  originated  his  own 
style.  He  chiefly  painted  landscapes  in  which  he  placed 
charming  little  nude  figures  of  nymphs,  fauns,  Cupids 
and  the  like.  His  flesh-tones  are  somewhat  purplish,  but 
they  have  the  exquisite  finish  and  delicate  modelling  of 
the  contemporary  school  of  Dutch  painters. 

In  The  Bathers  are  three  women  preparing  for  their 
bath  in  the  river  which  flows  at  the  right  under  a wooden 
bridge.  At  the  left  cattle  are  grazing  in  the  field,  and 
on  the  horizon  breaks  a line  of  mountains.  The  women 
are  carefully  drawn  and  modelled  with  a finish  like 
enamel,  that  nevertheless  gives  a charming  if  rather 
unreal  effect  to  the  flesh. 

In  the  View  of  Mt.  Palatine  and  the  Temple  of 
Minerva,  Poelenburgh  had  a chance  to  make  his  usual 
ruins  historically  and  geographically  accurate,  A herds- 


200 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


man,  his  very  presence  emphasizing  the  age-long  wreck 
of  the  palace  of  the  emperors,  is  in  the  centre  of  the 
picture,  with  his  dog.  He  is  talking  with  a peasant 
woman,  while  on  the  plains  the  cattle  graze.  At  the  right 
upon  the  mountain  are  the  imperial  ruins.  Finish,  joined 
to  a certain  sort  of  logical  truth  is  perhaps  the  strongest 
characteristic  of  this  little  picture. 

In  the  same  room  are  several  paintings  by  Gerard  Hon- 
thorst,  who,  unlike  most  of  the  Dutch  school  was  strongly 
influenced  by  Italian  art,  especially  by  Caravaggio.  The 
intensity  of  his  shadows  and  the  sharpness  of  his  lights 
led  to  his  being  called  Gherardo  delle  Notte.  Most  of  his 
work  is  too  ostensible,  too  made,  too  forced  in  its  scheme 
of  chiaroscuro.  He  delighted  in  having  only  candle-rays 
for  the  light  of  a whole  composition.  By  this  method  one 
small  spot  would  shine  with  a brilliancy  greatly  exag- 
gerated by  the  depth  of  the  shadows  about.  The  works 
of  his  in  the  Louvre  are  not  remarkable  though  they  show 
his  usual  tendencies. 

In  Robert  of  Bavaria  the  prince  is  bareheaded,  turned 
three-quarters  to  his  right.  The  wide  guipure  collar,  the 
green  sash,  and  the  sword  are  as  carefully  painted  as  is 
the  face.  It  was  regarded  as  a fine  portrait  in  its  day, 
but  it  is  a mediocre  work. 

The  Man  with  the  Lute  is  decidedly  better.  In  style 
of  subject  this  somewhat  suggests  Hals,  though  Hals 
never  dealt  in  such  cold,  deep  shadows.  The  player  is 
shown  seated  before  a table,  the  lute  resting  upon  it  and 
in  his  arms.  He  has  lifted  his  head  and  is  smiling,  and, 
apparently,  singing,  with  grimaces  that  divide  his  merry 
countenance  into  wrinkles.  Before  him  on  the  table  is 
a huge  beer-mug,  and  the  whole  air  of  the  picture  is 
convivial  and  rollicking  to  the  last  degree.  It  has  less  of 
the  artificial  effect  of  lighting  than  many  of  Honthorst’s. 


Salles  fll^.  to  fffM. 


201 


Jan  van  Goyen  died  the  same  year  as  Honthorst,  1656. 
He  was  one  of  the  earliest  of  Dutch  landscape  and 
marine  painters,  and  was  one  of  the  very  first  to  give  to 
the  sky  a real  place  of  importance  in  a picture.  His  skies 
were  always  remarkably  in  accord  with  his  fields,  his 
canals,  his  seas,  and  they  were  always  full  of  light,  with 
big  fieecy  clouds,  through  which  shone  gleams  of  the 
sun  or  bits  of  the  blue.  The  banks  of  canals  or  shores  of 
rivers  are  his  usual  subjects,  and  the  scenes  of  his  which 
are  in  Salle  XXHI.  are  fairly  representative. 

Salles  XXXI.  and  XXXII.  are  called  Rembrandt  rooms 
and  are  full  of  gems  by  this  greatest  of  Dutch  masters. 
In  calling  Rembrandt  that,  all  critics  agree.  The  term 
however  does  not  in  the  least  define  or  limit  his  genius, 
and  it  is  just  this  definition  and  limitation  about  which 
students,  painters  and  critics  have  widely  disagreed. 
Rembrandt,  the  marvellous  technician,  yet  often  the 
slovenly  workman ; the  greatest  realist  of  his  own  or  any 
time,  yet  one  of  the  idealistic  dreamers  of  the  world ; 
Rembrandt,  the  unflattering,  argus-eyed  portrait-painter; 
Rembrandt,  the  mystic  ; Rembrandt  the  Lutheran ; Rem- 
brandt, the  religious  painter  par  excellence  since  Fra 
Angelico ; Rembrandt,  the  portrayer  of  the  common,  the 
unlovely ; Rembrandt,  who  made  flesh  look  as  if  it  were 
only  a golden  reflection  of  the  impenetrable  shadows  that 
nearly  submerged  it ; Rembrandt,  who  painted  flesh  as 
glowing,  pulsing,  rich,  as  even  Rubens  or  Van  Dyck; 
Rembrandt,  whose  compositions  were  unformed,  ill- 
balanced  ; Rembrandt  who  balanced,  massed,  combined 
his  portrait  groups  into  compositions  unexcelled  by 
Raphael  himself ; Rembrandt,  whose  brush-work  is  thick, 
rough,  heavy,  muddy ; Rembrandt,  whose  surface  is  as 
thin,  as  smooth,  as  polished,  as  free,  as  supple  as  Velas- 
quez ; above  all  and  always  Rembrandt  the  thinker,  the 


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Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xoupre 


originator,  the  free  man,  dependent  on  no  one  before  or 
beside  him,  thinking  his  own  thoughts,  and  expressing 
them  in  his  own  way,  and  leaving  to  posterity  a mass 
of  works  enough  for  three  lifetimes.  And  among  these 
are  masterpieces  such  as  no  one  else  has  equalled,  master- 
pieces that  the  whole  western  world  agrees  in  calling 
among  the  few  great  treasures  of  art  of  all  time. 

The  Home  of  the  Carpenter  was  painted  about  1640. 
It  shows  the  carpenter  back  to  in  his  shirt-sleeves  by  the 
open  window  at  the  right  working  at  his  planing-board. 
In  front,  at  the  right  of  him,  but  still  at  the  left  of  the 
centre  of  the  picture  sits  the  mother  holding  the  little 
naked  baby  to  whom  she  offers  her  breast.  At  her 
right  is  the  grandmother,  who  has  paused  reading  from 
the  big  book  in  her  lap  to  lift  the  covering  from  the 
child’s  face  The  whole  light  of  the  picture  is  concen- 
trated upon  the  child  and  the  mother’s  breast  save  where 
it  rests  upon  the  floor  in  front  in  the  shape  of  a square 
made  by  the  reflection  of  the  open  window.  By  this 
arrangement  the  father,  the  grandmother  and  the  mother’s 
face  are  thrown  into  a half-light.  But  all  the  rest  of  the 
room,  where  a large  mantel-place  fills  one  side  and  various 
pieces  of  furniture  and  utensils  other  parts,  is  submerged 
in  a deep  brooding  shadow. 

It  is  a bit  out  of  the  life  of  a simple  Dutch  family  here, 
such  as  Rembrandt  must  have  seen  daily  about  him. 
The  mother  is  lovely  only  by  her  care  and  tenderness, 
the  child  is  a round  Dutch  baby.  Yet  so  full  of  feeling, 
so  rich  in  tone,  so  wonderful  in  lighting  is  this  little  scene 
that  almost  it  seems  as  if  no  one  else  ever  painted  so 
beautiful  a Holy  Family. 

In  this  salle  are  two  canvases,  each  called  The  Phil- 
osopher in  Meditation.  They  are  very  similar  in  treat- 
ment, and  were  painted  about  four  years  apart.  In  one 


Salles  fUf . to  fffM. 


203 


canvas  the  old  man,  wrapped  in  his  fur  coat  and  huge 
cap  sits  by  the  window  in  the  vaulted  room  alone,  plunged 
into  the  deep  thought  apparently  quite  apart  from  the 
books  lying  on  the  table  before  him.  In  the  other  picture, 
the  dreaming  scholar  is  not  alone.  Several  women  are 
about,  though  in  the  gloom  of  the  vaulted  chamber  they 
are  of  little  importance.  These  two  scenes  are  among 
the  first  examples  of  Rembrandt’s  work  in  chiaroscuro, 
when  the  subtility  of  light  and  shade  plays  so  important  a 
part  in  his  pictures.  The  colours  of  the  two  are  grayish, 
almost  monochromatic. 

The  Angel  Raphael  Quitting  Tobias  is  no  less  remark- 
able for  its  chiaroscuro,  and  it  has  much  more  variety  of 
colour.  Gathered  on  the  porch  of  a house  are  Tobias 
and  his  family,  while  immediately  above  them  at  the 
right  of  the  picture,  the  angel  is  just  rising  into  the 
heavens.  Tobias  himself  is  prostrate  on  the  lowest  step, 
his  son  on  his  knees  beside  him.  Behind  them  on  the 
step  above,  the  son’s  wife  stands  with  prayer-met  hands, 
her  face  lifted  in  wonder  to  the  departing  heavenly  visi- 
tant. Leaning  against  her,  with  her  head  on  her  shoulder 
is  the  wife  of  Tobias,  overcome  both  at  the  apparition 
and  at  her  own  lack  of  faith.  Between  the  two  groups 
is  a dog,  his  attitude  one  of  crouching  fear. 

The  light  is  concentrated  about  the  figure  of  Raphael. 
With  extended  arms,  wings  and  legs  he  is  shown  in  a 
foreshortened  back  view.  If  the  spread  feet  suggest  a 
little  the  feeling  of  swimming  in  the  ether,  rather  than 
flying,  and  if  they  are  a little  awkward  and  ugly  in  their 
lines,  the  wonderful  illumination  of  the  whole  figure,  the 
beautiful  tones  of  the  feathery  wings,  the  brilliant  white 
tunic,  and  the  glory  of  the  heavens  into  which  he  will 
shortly  vanish  at  once  make  up  for  any  such  shortcom- 
ings. Almost  all  the  rest  of  the  picture  is  enveloped  in  a 


204 


XTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


rich  shadow  scarcely  lifted  except  where  the  radiance 
from  above  strikes  Tobias’s  bent  head  and  neck  and 
parts  of  the  face  and  breast  of  the  son’s  wife.  This  is 
quite  sufficient,  however,  to  hold  the  connection  between 
the  upper  and  lower  part  of  the  composition.  And  the 
effect  of  this  lighting  is  wonderful  in  its  depth  of  expres- 
sion. Nothing  more  reverent,  more  impressive  could  be 
imagined  than  Tobias  as  he  rests  on  hands  and  knees. 
The  light  that  strikes  his  fine  old  head  is  like  a spiritual 
radiance  from  within  that  answers  to  the  celestial  beams 
from  above.  Complete  faith,  humble  gratitude,  soul- 
exaltation,  all  are  expressed  by  this  wonderful  manage- 
ment and  focusing  of  light.  Almost  as  telling  is  the 
light  that  strikes  upon  the  son’s  wife.  The  mysticism, 
the  ideality,  the  real  religion  of  Rembrandt’s  art  is  here 
given  expression,  if  not  so  fully  and  so  freely,  yet  almost 
as  beautifully  as  in  the  Good  Samaritan  which  is  near  by. 

This  was  painted  about  1648  and  is  Rembrandt  in  his 
full  power.  At  the  entrance  of  an  inn  whose  windowed 
wall  extends  more  than  half  across  the  whole  of  the 
canvas,  a boy  servant  holds  the  bridle  of  the  horse  from 
which  the  sick  man  has  been  taken.  Two  other  servants 
bear  the  weak  traveller  between  them.  On  the  steps,  in 
fuller  light,  stands  the  Samaritan  waiting  for  his  guest 
and  looking  at  him  with  sorrow  and  pit}%  and  behind  him, 
a trifle  higher  on  the  step  in  the  shadow,  is  his  good  mfe. 
From  the  window  of  the  tavern  several  heads  are  peer- 
ing, and  below  a couple  of  horses  are  tied.  The  day  is 
dying,  the  light  from  the  twilight-filled  sky  only  touches 
here  and  there  the  group  about  the  sick  man,  now  em- 
phasizing the  line  of  a shoulder,  here  throwing  a face 
into  half-light,  now  touching  the  bandage  about  the  ill 
one’s  head,  anon  hitting  his  thin  knees,  softly  rounding 
the  flank  of  one  of  the  horses  and  striking  more  broadly 


CHRIST  AT  EMMAUS 
By  Rembrandt 


Salles  fUf.  to  f^flDH 


205 


the  lower  angle  of  the  tavern  wall,  and  finally  resting 
squarely  over  the  upper  part  of  the  Samaritan’s  figure. 
The  rest  of  the  scene  is  enveloped  in  the  darkness  of 
the  oncoming  night,  full  of  the  rich,  dark  harmonies 
Rembrandt  alone  knew  how  to  express.  Here  once  more 
the  art  so  peculiarly  Rembrandt’s  own  is  wonderfully 
adapted  to  the  subject  treated.  Nothing  else,  no  other 
way  of  painting,  assuredly,  would  have  so  visualized,  and 
so  intensified  the  reality  and  the  beauty  of  the  old  story. 
Pathos,  tenderness,  subdued  strength,  the  mystery  and 
beauty  of  goodness  all  seem  a part  of  this  subtle,  caress- 
ing shadow  of  the  sinking  day. 

This  same  mystery  of  darkness  plays  an  important 
part  in  Christ  at  Emmaus.  In  a shadowy  room  the  two 
disciples  sit  in  profile  facing  each  other  at  the  ends  of 
the  small  white-covered  table.  With  them  is  the  Master, 
so  sitting  that  he  is  in  full  face,  with  the  table  in  front  of 
him,  a disciple  on  each  side.  His  hands  break  the  bread 
while  his  eyes  are  raised  to  heaven  asking  the  blessing. 
And  it  seems  as  if  it  was  only  at  that  instant  that  his  two 
followers  had  realized  who  he  was.  The  one  at  the  left 
who  has  turned  till  he  is  nearly  back  to,  joins  his  hands 
in  prayer,  the  other  has  started  back  in  astonishment  and 
is  gazing  eagerly  at  the  guest,  as  if  not  yet  quite  certain 
of  his  identity.  A servant  at  his  side  is  placing  a dish 
upon  his  shoulder.  He,  apparently  sees  nothing  to 
startle  him,  though  his  face  like  the  others  is  lighted  by 
the  strange  effulgence  that  plays  behind  and  about  the 
Saviour  of  men. 

Fromentin  says  of  this  composition,  so  small  in  size,  so 
rough  in  execution,  that  no  other  painter  has  ever 
imagined  the  Christ  like  this,  — with  the  marks  of  tor- 
ture still  showing  on  his  darkened  lips,  the  great,  deep, 
wide-open  eyes  lifted  heavenward,  the  halo,  a phosphores- 


2o6  • 


Zbc  Hrt  ot  tbe  Xouvre 


cent  envelop  that  submerges  himi  in  glory,  and  his  face 
bearing  the  inexplicable  look  of  a living,  breathing  human 
being,  who  has  passed  through  death;  with  his  bearing 
so  impossible  to  describe  and  more  so  to  copy,  with  the 
entire  feeling  of  the  face  where  there  is  yet  scarcely  a 
defined  feature,  — these  are  the  things  which  no  art 
recalls  and  which  no  one  before  Rembrandt  and  no  one 
after  has  expressed  so  marvellously. 

The  Portrait  of  an  Old  Man,  painted  about  1638  is 
an  interesting  study,  if  far  below  the  compositions  de- 
scribed above.  He  is  represented  in  full  face  enveloped 
in  a big  cloak,  his  head  bare  and  almost  bald,  with  a long 
beard,  and  graying  moustache. 

Of  the  four  Portraits  of  Rembrandt  at  the  Louvre, 
three  show  him;  as  a young  man.  They  are  all  painted 
in  three-quarters  view,  the  earlier  three  on  oval  canvases. 
The  one  without  a cap  shows  him  with  his  bushy,  curly 
hair  thick  about  his  head,  wearing  a violet  velvet  cloak 
draped  with  a golden  chain  set  with  pearls.  There  are 
already  some  of  the  familiar  wrinkles  in  his  forehead  be- 
tween his  eyes,  but  they  are  the  sort  that  come  from  close 
and  sustained  thought  rather  than  from  worry  or  trouble. 
His  eyes  are  bright,  his  face  is  full  and  round,  everything 
bespeaks  the  man  of  youth,  of  love,  of  good  fortune, — 
the  rich  clothes  and  jewels  no  more  than  the  easy  pose, 
the  comfortable,  happy  expression,  the  light  in  the  eye, 
the  eager  mouth. 

In  the  other  two  he  has  a velvet  cap  ornamented  with 
a golden  chain,  other  gold  chains  about  his  neck,  and 
frankness,  good  humour,  happiness  still  radiate  from  the 
face,  that,  though  far  too  heavy  and  loosely  modelled  ever 
to  be  beautiful,  has  a mobility,  a life,  an  intelligence,  that 
make  it  wonderfully  interesting.  Rembrandt’s  hand  was 
perhaps  not  at  the  height  of  its  power  when  he  painted 


Salles  fllf,  to  fffDH 


207 


these  three.  Any  one  of  them,  nevertheless,  easily  ranks 
among  the  great  portraits  of  the  world. 

The  fourth  was  done  when  he  was  old,  poor,  dis- 
regarded by  the  very  public  that  had  once  adored  him, 
pressed  by  difficulties  on  every  side.  Yet  it  is  not  hard  to 
trace  in  this  portrait  the  indomitable  energy,  the  uncom- 
plaining spirit,  the  steady  purpose,  the  love  of  art  that  re- 
mained with  him  up  to  the  last  gloomy  year  of  his  life. 
It  was  painted  the  year  before  the  famous  Syndics,  in 
1660.  It  has  not  the  glowing  colour  of  that  masterpiece, 
nor  the  haunting,  mysterious  shadows  of  transcendent 
lights  of  many  of  his  earlier  works.  It  is  somewhat 
murky,  this  painting  of  the  old  man  in  his  white  cap  that, 
looking  like  a night-hood,  ill  assorts  with  the  long  fur- 
bordered  robe  hanging  loosely  about  his  figure.  In  his 
left  hand  he  holds  his  palette  and  brushes,  in  his  right 
his  maulstick.  He  is  standing  in  three-quarters  view, 
facing  toward  his  left,  before  a canvas  on  an  easel.  Gone 
are  the  gold  chains,  the  velvet  caps,  the  pearl  earrings, 
the  rich  surroundings  of  his  earlier  years.  The  plain 
walls  of  a bare  room  are  his  only  background,  and  in  the 
uncompromising  flatness  of  the  rather  dull  tones,  the  too 
heavy  brush-work,  one  seems  to  read  the  rebuffs  that 
made  this  royal  good  fellow  of  1634,  an  old,  tired  man, 
with  the  homely,  hanging  double  chin,  the  wrinkled, 
heavy  skin,  the  short,  scant  hair.  But  still  the  mouth 
presses  firmly  together,  still  the  eyes  look  out  squarely, 
surely,  and  still  shines  the  unbroken  spirit  of  the  man  who 
kept  free  and  young  in  the  love  of  his  life,  — his  art. 

One  of  Rembrandt’s  pupils  was  Adriaen  van  Ostade, 
whose  effects  of  chiaroscuro  gained  for  him  the  title 
of  “ the  little  Rembrandt.”  He  painted  generally  the 
extremely  ugly.  His  tavern  scenes,  his  drinking  and 
smoking  men,  even  his  home  interiors,  show  the  Dutch 


2o8 


Ube  Hrt  ot  tbe  Xouvre 


peasant  in  his  homeliest,  most  awkward,  rudest  aspect. 
Yet  so  glowing  is  the  colour,  so  marvellous  the  arrange- 
ment of  light  and  shade,  that  in  spite  of  the  gaucheries 
of  form,  the  clumsiness  of  action,  they  are  in  their  own 
way  really  beautiful.  His  brother  Isaack  was  his  pupil 
and  in  the  beginning  copied  his  style  of  painting.  Soon 
he  dropped  that  to  paint  landscape  in  which  he  achieved 
decided  success.  Though  he  has  a brownness  of  shadow, 
his  scenes  are  remarkably  fresh,  breezy  and  brilliant.  He 
has  a keen  observation  and  rejoices  in  depicting  the 
picturesque  details  of  his  tavern-yards,  his  river-banks, 
his  frozen  canals.  Both  of  these  brothers  are  well  repre- 
sented at  the  Louvre,  pictures  by  them  being  in  Salles 
XXIV.,  XXV.,  XXXI.,  XXXIIL,  and  XXXIV. 

Among  the  most  noted  by  the  older  man  is  the  family 
group  of  himself,  his  wife,  his  six  children  and  his 
brother  Isaack  and  his  wife.  It  is  one  of  his  largest  can- 
vases, measuring  thirty-two  inches  in  length  by  twenty- 
eight  in  height.  As  a portrait  group  the  figures  are 
combined  skilfully  enough  so  that  the  lines  are  pleasing 
if  not  distinguished,  the  massing  easy  if  not  striking. 
The  extreme  elongation  of  the  group  gave  Ostade  a 
superb  chance  to  paint  the  varying  tones  of  black  gar- 
ments and  white  caps  and  collars.  These  blacks  have  been 
called  among  the  most  wonderful  renderings  known  of 
this  most  difficult  colour.  Ostade  himself,  a middle-aged 
man,  in  big  soft  black  hat,  knee-breeches,  low  ties  and 
a wide  white  collar  sits  at  the  left  holding  on  his  knee 
the  chubby  hand  of  his  wife  who  sits  beside  him.  Her 
mouth  is  a bit  open  and  her  face  is  turned  to  her  husband. 
The  little  gesture  of  her  left  hand  indicates  the  conver- 
sation she  is  carrying  on  with  her  good  man,  who,  though 
he  is  assuredly  listening,  is  looking  out  and  away.  Five 
small  girls  of  varying  age  are  grouped  in  a more  or  less 


Salles  fiff . to  f f flDH. 


209 


broken  line  extending  from  the  mother’s  knee  almost 
to  the  right  of  the  picture.  Their  positions  are  all 
natural,  easy  and  full  of  childlike  vivacity.  A little 
behind  the  group,  in  the  centre,  stand  Isaack  and  his 
wife  side  by  side.  Back  of  his  father’s  chair  and  at  the 
left  is  the  boy  of  the  family,  smiling  and  holding  his 
gloves  in  one  hand.  All  these  personages  are  in  black 
except  the  two  smallest  children  in  front,  one  of  whom 
has  a maroon  dress,  the  other  a gray.  It  is  a free, 
realistic,  lifelike  group  and  would  do  honour  to  the 
greatest  painter.  The  flesh-tones  are  clear  and  living, 
the  modelling  supple  and  simple,  the  draperies  wonderful 
creations  of  tone. 

The  Fish  Market  is  another  celebrated  scene  by  Ostade. 
Sitting  at  his  counter  in  nearly  full  face,  the  old  merchant 
lifts  with  one  hand  the  fish  he  has  been  cleaning  and 
looks  up  as  if  he  regarded  some  possible  purchaser.  He 
is  in  a cool,  even  light  that  does  not,  to  be  sure,  suggest 
out-of-doors  though  the  booth  is  open.  Behind  him  are 
other  booths  and  a crowd  of  people  under  the  shadows  of 
the  projecting  roofs,  and  farther  beyond  still,  the  sun- 
light of  real  outdoors.  The  management  of  the  shadow, 
the  softness  and  graded  tones  of  its  mass,  the  light  back 
of  it  emphasizing  its  own  luminosity,  show  the  influence 
of  Rembrandt.  The  drawing,  modelling  and  colour  of 
the  old  fish-seller  are  all  more  than  admirable,  as  is  the 
atmosphere  of  the  whole  thing,  with  its  warm,  golden 
light,  and  its  humid  shadow. 

Still  another  is  The  Reader.  Out  of  an.  open  window 
above  which  a grape-vine  falls  down  in  two  graceful 
sprays,  leans  the  jolly  old  man  who  has  apparently 
stopped  reading  to  answer  the  call  of  some  one  below. 
His  right  hand  still  holds  the  paper,  his  left  his  glasses. 
On  his  head  is  his  soft  black  hat,  behind  him,  the  deep 


210 


XTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


shadow  that  allows  no  details  of  the  room  to  be  seen. 
His  wrinkled,  fat,  coarse  face  is  wreathed  in  a kindly 
smile.  The  green  overcoat  and  undersleeves  of  maroon 
make  a fine  bit  of  colour,  and  the  lighting  of  the  face  and 
hands  and  their  relation  to  the  white  paper  show  splendid 
feeling  for  colour. 

Perhaps  the  best  of  Isaack  van  Ostade’s  works  in  the 
Louvre  are  his  Frozen  Canals,  though  his  Halts  before 
Taverns  and  his  Winter  Scene  are  all  good.  The  Frozen 
Canal  in  Room  XXIV.  shows  a high  bank  with  naked 
trees  and  old  thatched  cottages  rising  out  of  the  wide 
frozen  canal,  a strip  of  lower  shore  cutting  diagonally 
across  as  foreground.  Near  this  shore  a man  and  woman 
come  skating  rapidly  and  behind  them  are  a dog  and  a 
small  boy  doubled  up  with  the  cold.  At  the  left  another 
small  child  pushes  herself  along  on  a sled  and  at  the  right 
two  boys  have  stopped  while  one  tightens  his  straps. 
On  the  shore  at  the  left  of  the  picture  two  other  children 
push  to  the  canal  a sled  bearing  two  of  their  companions, 
and  up  on  the  bank  a peasant  drives  an  old  gray  horse 
hitched  to  a truck.  In  the  distance  are  boats  and  ships 
in  the  ice,  other  skaters,  and  farther  off  mills  and  roofs 
of  the  village.  This  is  a striking  winter  scene  of  Holland, 
full  of  truth,  life  and  action  and  fairly  pervaded  with 
the  cold  whiteness  of  the  ice  and  snow. 

Van  der  Heist,  who  in  the  judgment  of  his  fellow 
countrymen  was  considered  almost  equal  to  Rembrandt 
as  a portrait-painter  is  only  meagrely  represented  at  the 
Louvre.  In  his  day  his  clear,  bright,  sharp  portraits  with 
their  admirable  construction,  definite  portraiture  and 
elaboration  of  detail  were  given  highest  praise.  To-day 
his  colour  seems  hard  and  somewhat  artificial  and  his 
dislike  to  use  chiaroscuro  or  to  make  one  part  of  his 


Salles  f Ilf . to  ff fM 


2II 


pictures  more  predominant  than  another,  all  militate 
against  his  being  considered  a real  master. 

His  Judging  of  the  Archery  Prize  is  a small  repro- 
duction of  the  larger  one  at  Amsterdam.  Sitting  around 
a table  covered  with  a gaily  striped  cloth  are  four  of  the 
chiefs  of  the  archery  companies  of  Amsterdam.  They  are 
looking  at  the  rich  prizes  in  gold  and  silver  and  evidently 
are  discussing  their  merits.  Behind  them  at  the  left  a 
serving-woman  carries  a huge  drinking-horn  ornamented 
with  silver  trimmings.  At  the  right,  again,  in  the  hall 
beyond,  three  young  men  are  seen  standing,  holding  their 
bows  and  arrows  and  watching  the  group  about  the  table. 
A huge  slate  with  the  score  upon  it  rests  against  the  leg 
of  the  table  almost  in  the  centre  of  the  picture.  At  the 
left  is  a spaniel.  These  figures  are  splendidly  and  finely 
drawn,  each  one  admirably  posed,  the  action  of  the  heads 
and  bodies  being  in  absolute  accord.  The  colour  is  clear 
and  brilliant,  if  somewhat  sharp. 

In  his  Portrait  of  a Man,  Van  der  Heist  shows  his 
mastery  of  line,  of  contour,  along  with  his  remarkable 
power  as  a discriminating  delineator  of  feature,  position 
and  character.  The  man  is  standing  with  his  left  hand 
spread  out  on  his  coat  just  below  his  neck.  He  is  in 
full  face,  bareheaded,  wears  a turned-down  collar  of  lace 
tied  with  cords  ending  in  two  tassels,  and  is  dressed  in 
black  with  open  sleeves  showing  the  full  white  shirt- 
sleeves beneath. 

In  the  same  room  with  many  of  Rembrandt’s  great 
works  are  the  little  genre  pieces  of  Gerard  Dou,  who  it  is 
claimed  was  a pupil  of  the  great  man.  From  Rembrandt 
he  undoubtedly  acquired  his  knowledge  of  the  value  of 
chiaroscuro  and  how  to  employ  it.  From  him,  too,  he 
perhaps  learned  the  art  of  composition  which  in  his  own 
way  he  interpreted  as  wonderfully  as  his  master.  But 


212 


Ube  Hrt  ot  tbe  Xouvre 


essentially,  no  two  painters  were  ever  more  diametrically 
opposed  in  most  of  their  expressions.  Besides  the  mere 
matter  of  large  or  tiny  pictures,  of  splashing,  broad,  or 
infinitesimal  brush-work,  of  disregard  of  accessories,  or 
of  microscopical  attention  to  the  most  insignificant  details, 
besides  such  superficialities  of  differences,  it  is  the  under- 
lying aim  of  the  two  men  that  is  so  dissimilar.  With 
Rembrandt  it  is  always  the  thought,  the  emotion  behind 
his  faces,  below  the  scenes.  Very  different  is  it  with 
Dou  and  with  the  Dutch  school  of  which  he  is  a leading 
representative.  It  is  never  the  soul-thought,  the  hidden 
spirituality  or  the  real  nature  underneath  the  common- 
place exterior  with  which  he  is  concerned.  If  he  paints 
a buxom  Dutch  maiden  on  her  way  from  market  with 
a fowl  slung  over  one  arm  and  a milk-can  over  the  other, 
he  paints  her  just  as  he  saw  her,  and  as  undoubtedly  she 
would  wish  to  be  seen.  If  she  had  been  neglected  by  her 
lover  only  the  day  before  it  was  not  Don’s  business  to 
proclaim  her  sorrow  to  the  world.  The  Dutch  maiden 
you  may  be  sure  would  have  kept  it  quite  hidden  behind 
her  frank  pleasant  eyes.  Dou,  then,  confined  himself 
to  painting  the  homeliest  of  daily  scenes  such  as  the 
merest  observer  was  familiar  with.  But  he  so  filled  them 
with  colour,  light,  fine  composition,  and  extreme  finish, 
as  only,  begging  pardon  of  Mr.  Van  Dyke  and  others, 
as  only  an  artist,  not  an  artisan  could  do.  It  is  this  ex- 
treme love  of  the  minute  things  in  his  picture,  this  lavish 
care  bestowed  upon  the  feathers  of  a dead  bird,  the  high 
light  in  a brass  firkin,  the  shine  in  a flask  of  water,  where, 
too,  each  of  these  articles  is  itself  scarcely  an  inch  high, 
that  has  helped  to  make  critics  belittle  Don’s  art.  Poet, 
he  may  not  have  been,  yet  whose  canvases  tell  more  truly 
their  tale,  if  it  is  a simple  one  ? Whose  transcripts  of  the 
daily  life  of  the  humble  or  middle  class  are  truer  or 


Salles  to 


213 


more  perfect  in  their  own  way?  If  Don  has  never  pene- 
trated into  the  ecstasies  or  agonies  of  the  human  soul, 
is  it  not  also  the  province  of  art  to  show  the  beauty,  the 
colour,  the  charm  of  the  daily,  the  usual,  the  ordinary? 
And  that  Dou  has  done  with  no  uncertain  brush.  From 
his  tiny  porcelain-like  finished  canvases  one  learns  that 
in  the  midst  of  fearful  wars  of  Church  and  state,  at  a 
time  when  Spanish  persecutions  and  Louis  XIV.  abso- 
lutism were  contending  for  the  life  and  soul  of  the  whole 
Dutch  country,  the  simple  joys  of  quiet  home  life  still 
flourished  in  the  dyke-built  land,  and  virtue,  integrity 
and  a quiet  courage  were  not  difficult  to  find.  Or  at 
least  Dou  found  them.  Even  in  burgher  Holland  it 
must  have  required  some  selection,  for  a painter  to  have 
always  read  so  honourable  a tale.  Perhaps,  then,  after 
all,  he  had  a bit  of  the  poet’s  insight  that  can  see  the  true, 
the  simple. 

The  Dropsical  Woman  was  painted  in  1633  when  Dou 
was  fifty  years  old.  It  is  universally  considered  one  of 
his  masterpieces.  Even  his  detractors  have  granted  to 
this  a certain  sentiment  and  feeling  which  they  claim 
is  “ unusual  ” for  the  painter.  It  is  larger  than  many 
of  Don’s  works  and  must  have  taken  him  long  to  paint, 
judging  from  the  stories  which  credit  him  with  spending 
five  days  on  a lady’s  hand  and  three  on  an  inch-high 
broomstick.  The  picture  represents  the  interior  of  a 
handsome  room  lighted  through  the  tiny  panes  of  a high 
Gothic  window,  which  is  at  the  left  of  the  picture  and 
by  a small  round  one  immediately  above  it.  Here,  in 
front  of  the  window-settle  the  sick  woman  lies  back  in 
her  big  chair,  too  ill  so  much  as  to  look  at  her  young 
daughter  who  kneels  before  her  clasping  her  loosely  hang- 
ing hand.  Behind  the  mother  is  an  elderly  serving- 
woman  leaning  over  her  with  a spoon  in  her  hand. 


214 


Ube  Hrt  ot  tbe  3Lou\?re 


More  at  the  right  of  the  picture,  beside  and  in  front  of 
his  patient,  stands  the  doctor,  in  a brave  purple  silk  robe, 
looking  at  a round  glass  flask  of  medicine.  He  is  in 
profile,  facing  the  window,  so  that  he  is  mostly  in  full 
light.  The  shadow  behind  him  and  back  in  the  distance 
of  the  room  is  wonderfully  atmospheric  in  its  gradations 
of  tone  and  no  less  masterly  is  the  management  of  the 
heavy  shadows  in  the  folds  of  his  rich  robe.  Every 
piece  of  furniture,  every  bit  of  carving,  the  thick  bro- 
caded portiHe  that  is  looped  up  in  front  of  the  scene,  the 
simple  one  drawn  back  on  its  rod  at  the  window,  the 
reading-desk  with  its  big  Bible,  the  hanging  brass 
chandelier,  catching  the  light  on  its  polished  sides,  — 
every  bit  of  the  surroundings  of  the  scene  is  carried  to  the 
extreme  point  of  finish  Dou  alone  could  accomplish. 
Yet  the  minuteness  of  execution  does  not  take  away  from 
the  pathos  of  that  group  whose  centre  is  the  sick  mother. 
Surely  here  is  story  enough  for  even  a Preraphaelite, 
though  dealing  with  the  sorrows  of  daily  life  would 
probably  not  interest  those  who  see  poetry  and  feeling 
only  in  the  myths  of  the  past. 

At  the  Grocery  is  one  of  Don’s  smaller  pictures,  meas- 
uring fourteen  inches  in  height  by  ten  and  a half  in 
width.  Considering  the  size  of  this  panel  it  is  amazing 
to  see  how  much  is  within  it.  The  picture  is  bounded  by 
the  lines  of  the  big  open  window  which  has  a wide 
curve  at  the  top  like  a Romanesque  arch.  Running 
diagonally  backward  from  its  wide  sill  is  the  counter  at 
the  right  of  which  is  the  mistress  of  the  shop.  Opposite 
her  are  two  customers  and  in  the  background  among  the 
shadows  a boy  is  seen  carrying  a jar  before  him.  Of 
the  two  customers  the  one  in  front  is  an  old  woman 
sitting  at  the  counter  reckoning  the  amount  of  the  various 
pieces  of  silver  spread  out  before  her,  and  the  other  is 


THE  DROPSICAL  WOMAN 

By  Gerard  Dou 


Salles  fUf.  to  fffM 


215 


a gay  young  girl  in  kerchief  and  cap.  She  has  drawn 
her  left  hand  through  the  handle  of  her  big  basket  and 
leans  slightly  on  it  as  she  looks  up  smiling  at  the  shop- 
keeper who  is  weighing  her  purchase  on  the  scales  she 
holds.  On  the  window-ledge  before  these  are  a bunch  of 
carrots,  some  onions,  and  a large  earthen  jar,  and  on 
the  side  of  the  opening  above  hangs  a basket  of  eggs. 
Behind  are  well-filled  shelves  and  farther  back  various 
grocery  belongings  appear  dimly  among  the  shadows. 
Here,  the  finish  of  workmanship,  the  polish,  the  atten- 
tion to  every  scrap  of  detail  is  carried  to  its  limit.  But, 
once  more,  the  people  are  what  really  hold  the  attention. 
Especially  does  the  eye  linger  on  the  fresh  young  maid,  at 
whom  the  awkward  boy  is  gazing  so  furtively. 

The  Girl  with  a Fowl  is  again  framed  by  the  wide- 
arched  window.  “ Prosaic  and  trivial  ” this,  as  well  as 
many  other  transcripts  of  daily  life,  has  been  called. 
It  shows  Don’s  consummate  mastery  of  line,  colour  and 
an  indefinable  charm  that  in  spite  of  its  ordinary  subject 
continues  to  attract  the  connoisseur,  the  amateur  and  the 
public.  Standing  behind  the  sill  of  the  arched  window, 
a young  servant-maid  leans  forward  to  hang  a rooster 
on  a nail  outside,  her  other  hand  resting  upon  a big 
copper  basket.  Beside  her  a tipped-up  silver  coffee-pot 
is  airing  next  to  a heavy  candlestick,  above  which  is  a 
bird-cage  attached  to  the  side  of  the  window.  The 
piquant-faced  curly-haired  girl  might  be  the  same  but  now 
buying  of  the  grocer-lady.  There  is  a hint  of  wistfulness 
in  her  bright  eyes  and  perhaps  she  is  thinking  of  the 
dull  grocer  laddie.  But  with  no  less  care  than  he  gave 
to  her  fair  face,  Dou  has  painted  the  brilliant-hued  cock, 
the  shining  bit  of  copper,  the  silver  coffee-pot,  the  cage 
and  the  candlestick.  Each  has  its  own  beauty  of  colour, 
and  form,  its  exact  value ; and  every^vhere  is  that  in- 


2i6 


ZM  Hrt  of  tbe  QLouvre 


sistence  upon  actuality,  truth.  The  panel  is  only  eight  by 
ten  inches  and  is  dated  1650. 

Like  Dou,  Ferdinand  Bol  was  also  a pupil  of  Rem- 
brandt, and  a very  famous  one.  At  his  best  he  was  so 
much  like  the  greater  man,  that  his  works  have  often  been 
taken  for  Rembrandt’s.  Later  in  life  however,  he  became 
sadly  Italianized  and  Rubensized,  and  lost  much  of  the 
beauty  of  tone  and  luminosity  of  shadow  which  had  been 
so  characteristic  of  him.  His  best  portraits  have  life, 
dignity,  poise,  insight.  He  shows  himself  master  of  his 
material  and  uses  it  with  the  freedom  and  ease  of  a man 
to  whom  it  is  merely  valuable  as  a medium  for  express- 
ing ideas. 

The  Mathematician  by  him  in  Salle  XXXL,  is  one  of 
his  finest  portraits.  Sitting  sidewise  with  his  right  arm 
resting  upon  the  stone  balustrade  the  professor  holds 
before  him  in  his  left  hand  a copper  rule  with  which  he 
points  to  a geometrical  figure  drawn  upon  the  board 
behind  him.  He  has  turned  his  face  over  his  left  shoul- 
der till,  in  three-quarters  view,  it  is  gazing  straight  out  at 
you,  to  whom,  apparently  he  is  explaining  the  problem. 
It  is  a face  as  full  of  character  as  it  is  of  technical  beauties. 
The  firm  mouth,  the  finely-lined  nose,  the  clear,  question- 
ing eyes,  the  full  broad  forehead,  all  speak  the  man  of 
logical  mind,  of  an  unruffled,  contemplative  nature.  The 
fulness  about  the  chin  and  the  rather  delicate  hand  hint 
a certain  fondness  of  the  good  things  of  life.  Soft, 
waving  hair  falls  about  the  neck  on  to  the  broad  white 
collar  and  on  his  head  is  a black  skull-cap  at  an  angle 
suggestive  of  “ bonhomie.”  The  total  relations  between 
the  flesh,  the  gray  hair,  the  white  collar  and  the  black  robe 
are  wonderfully  fine.  Not  less  so  is  the  shadow  on  the 
left  side  of  the  face,  breaking  as  it  does  into  reflected 
light  by  the  eye  and  deepening  again  under  the  nose. 


Salles  to  f fflDll 


217 


The  hand  is  modelled  with  a surety  and  a simplicity  that 
bespeak  ease  of  draughtsmanship.  The  Whole  pose  is 
as  natural,  as  dignified  and  as  inevitable  as  if  the  professor 
had  been  suddenly  surprised  elucidating  a problem  in  his 
own  class-room. 

The  Portrait  of  a Man  is  another  excellent  work.  He 
is  standing  on  a balcony  leaning  with  his  left  arm  upon 
the  railing  which  is  behind  him.  This  brings  him  into  a 
three-quarters  position  facing  toward  the  right.  The  light 
comes  from  the  left,  throwing  the  right  side  of  his  face, 
his  white  collar  and  both  hands  into  strong  relief. 
Dressed  in  black,  the  cutfs  and  collar  alone  breaking  the 
sombreness,  the  man’s  face  is  almost  Spanish  in  its  con- 
tour. Of  a rather  long  type,  high  bridged  and  long  nose, 
large,  full-lidded  eyes,  finely  curved  mouth  which  the 
small  moustache  does  not  hide,  his  hair  waving  over  his 
high  forehead  and  about  his  ears,  this  unknown  gentle- 
man has  a serious,  intent  aspect  that  proclaims  this  a 
capital  portrait. 

Less  like  Bol  but  more,  in  a way,  like  Dou  are  the 
five  pictures  by  Ter  Borch  in  these  Dutch  rooms.  It  is 
only,  however,  in  their  carefulness  of  finish  that  they 
remind  one  of  the  latter,  for  Ter  Borch  was  as  original 
and  had  as  distinctive  a style  as  any  man  of  the  Dutch 
school.  No  rowdy  parties,  no  brawling  tavern-scenes,  no 
questionable  company  appear  in  the  scenes  of  this  gentle- 
man painter.  They  all  breathe  the  air  of  gentle  breeding, 
sometimes,  one  is  tempted  to  feel,  almost  to  inanity.  His 
brush,  like  Dou’s,  but  very  differently,  is  always  depicting 
the  simplest  of  scenes  and  he  is  especially  happy  in 
suggesting  the  varying  shades  of  even  commonplace 
expression.  In  fact  it  is  the  commonplaces  of  eminently 
correct  society  that  all  of  Ter  Borch’s  panels  portray. 
And  it  is  the  minute  variations  of  expression  of  this  great 


2i8 


Zbc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


respectability  that  he  delineates  best  of  all.  A half  smile, 
a tentative  glance  of  curiosity,  a fleeting  look  of  incredu- 
lity, a questioning  lift  of  eyebrows,  a quiescent  pause 
where  the  expression  is  absolutely  blank,  this  is  what 
Ter  Borch  can  do  better  than  anybody  else  and  with  the 
simplest  means.  His  marvellous  draughtsmanship  is 
apparently  so  little  allied  to  art,  to  study,  to  effort,  that 
it  is  as  difficult  to  try  to  copy  one  of  his  figures  as  it 
is  to  copy  life  itself.  His  colour  was  restrained  but 
full  of  fine  gradations,  his  sense  of  values  and  of  con- 
trast both  equally  strong.  He  was  one  of  the  greatest 
of  Holland’s  painters  and  in  his  own  line  does  not  fall 
far  below  Hals  or  even  Rembrandt. 

In  The  Concert,  in  Salle  XXVI.,  the  young  girl  so 
often  seen  in  Ter  Borch’s  pictures  is  the  central  object 
of  interest.  She  sits  in  profile,  by  a table  with  a gay 
cover,  facing  toward  the  left.  Her  blond  head  with  its 
full,  childlike  forehead,  its  small  chin,  its  yellow  curls 
tied  with  black  velvet  ribbons,  her  white  satin  skirt  fall- 
ing in  folds  that  catch  and  reflect  the  lights  and  shades 
so  entrancingly,  all  are  familiar  to  us,  but  yet,  as  ever 
with  Ter  Borch,  all  is  new.  She  is  sitting  with  downcast 
eyes,  singing  from  the  sheet  of  music  held  in  her  left 
hand,  while  with  the  right  she  beats  time.  Standing  on 
the  other  side  of  the  table  in  full  face  is  another  girl 
playing  upon  a guitar.  She  is  dressed  in  gray  with  a 
white  chemisette.  At  the  right  just  behind  the  first 
girl’s  chair,  a page  enters  the  room  bearing  a salver. 
He  is  not  hurrying,  and  the  smile  on  his  lips  and  the 
retrospective  expression  in  his  eyes  give  the  reason. 
He  is  decidedly  interested  in  the  concert.  Behind  all  is 
a tapestry  hanging  which  sinks  dimly  into  the  back- 
ground without,  however,  the  depth  of  shadow  which 
Dou  would  have  thrown  upon  it. 


Salles  fUf*  to  f f SM, 


219 


It  is  a characteristic  bit  by  Ter  Borch,  — a simple,  un- 
pretentious scene  with  few  accessories  and  none  of  Don’s 
insistence  upon  detail.  There  is  too,  far  less  evident 
delight  in  brush-work,  per  se.  Ter  Borch  uses  his  brush 
as  a tool,  not  as  an  object  in  itself.  As  brush-work  how- 
ever, it  is  supple,  full,  fat,  broad  and  inclusive,  delicate 
and  fine,  with  exquisite  accents  and  subtle  touches,  so 
subtle  that  they  are  noticed  only  after  careful  examination. 
It  is  reality  that  concerns  Ter  Borch,  and  reality  is  what 
he  expresses. 

The  Music  Lesson  is  another  variation  of  a subject 
which  was  a favourite  with  him.  Seated  with  his  elbow 
resting  on  a table  covered  with  a red  cloth,  the  young 
musician  is  playing  on  a guitar  to  his  fair  pupil  who 
stands  in  front  of  him  at  the  right,  holding  an  open 
book.  She  is  listening  while  he  sings,  and  somehow  there 
is  a suggestion  that  this  white-satin  gowned,  blond 
young  woman,  has  more  ability  to  listen  than  to  execute. 
At  all  events  a bored  expression  hovers  on  the  musician’s 
face  and  it  does  not  appear  that  he  will  be  sorry  to  be 
interrupted  by  the  summons  of  the  servant  who  has  just 
opened  the  door  in  the  background.  He  is  extremely  well 
dressed,  this  nonchalant  teacher,  with  his  big  Spanish 
riding-boots  and  spurs,  his  wide-brimmed  hat  on  the 
floor  beside  him,  his  waving  black  hair,  his  gray  cuffs  and 
collar,  his  baggy  trousers.  The  girl,  too,  is  more  than 
richly  robed.  There  is  a magnificence  about  the  folds 
of  her  bordered  satin  gown,  the  lace  in  the  sleeves,  the 
necklace,  that  speak  wealth  and  leisure.  It  is  a leisure 
that  perhaps  tends  to  somnolence,  as  exemplified  in  her 
own  heavy-lidded  eyes  and  in  the  little  dog  curled  up 
asleep  on  the  chair  behind  her. 

Besides  the  charming  colours  of  the  picture,  with  the 
soft  sheen  of  the  satin,  the  more  vivid  note  struck  by  the 


220 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


table-cover,  this  counterbalanced  by  the  black  suit  of 
the  musician;  besides  the  absolute  justness  of  the  values, 
with  the  exact  and  actual  relation  between  flesh  and 
stuffs,  stuffs  and  furniture,  furniture  and  walls;  besides 
the  solidity  and  strength  of  drawing,  with  such  feeling 
of  bone  and  muscle  and  form  beneath  those  velvets  and 
satins ; besides  the  excellence  of  composition  with  the 
inevitableness  of  position  and  placing;  besides,  finally, 
the  actuality  and  individuality  of  the  man  and  girl,  there 
is  something  else  that  is  even  less  often  in  even  the 
works  of  the  greatest  masters.  It  is  the  unconscious 
reality  of  the  picture  as  a whole,  if  it  may  be  so  expressed, 
and  it  is  this  appearance  of  actuality  in  all  Ter  Borch’s 
scenes  that  makes  them  so  remarkable. 

One  of  the  very  best  of  his  works  to  be  seen  anj^vhere, 
is  in  Salle  XXIX.,  called  An  Officer  Offering  kloney  to  a 
Young  Girl.  It  gives  the  interior  of  a room,  where, 
beside  a table  covered  with  red,  sits  a young  girl  hold- 
ing a glass  decanter  on  one  knee  from  which  she  is 
about  to  fill  the  wine-glass  in  her  other  hand.  She  has 
been  interrupted  by  the  Dutch  officer  who  sits  at  her 
left  slightly  in  front.  He  is  reaching  out  his  fat  open 
hand,  in  which  are  several  pieces  of  money.  It  is  this 
movement  which  has  made  the  girl  stop  a moment,  and 
she  is  gazing  down  at  that  “ unctuous  palm  ” quite  obliv- 
ious of  anything  else.  The  officer  meanwhile  is  looking 
at  her  with  a roll  of  his  eyes  over  his  fat  cheeks  that 
suggests  anything  or  nothing  as  one  may  please  to 
interpret.  Equally  enigmatic  is  the  quiet,  dov.mward  look 
of  the  girl.  It  is  not  at  all  certain  what  that  blond  head 
is  thinking.  In  fact  the  countenances  are  as  doubtfully 
definite  as  they  would  be  in  real  life.  The  modelling  of 
these  two  figures  is  beyond  praise.  The  solid  bulk  of  the 
soldier  is  no  more  marvellous  than  the  construction  of 


AN'  OFFICER  OFFERING  MONEY  TO  A YOUNG  GIRL 

By  Ter  Borch 


/'5s»tp 


v'  • • V ’r  ^ ' ■ ■ 

' •"■■  ■ ■.„  ■..  .T..  ■^•. 

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v.r;;:  ;•■  ■ ■.'•^-.v,.,; 

. T ■■''■  ' .■*’ ^k'“‘'^‘'  u 
•■vv' •('!;<'''";i®'.  'V’i'':.'  '■'. 


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-.  'A' 


Salles  fUf,  to 


221 


those  pudgy  hands,  they  no  more  perfect  than  the  silken 
folds  of  the  white  satin  gown,  the  fluffy  fur  about  the 
yellow  jacket  or  the  very  droop  of  those  hiding  eye- 
lids of  that  little  blond  head. 

Fourteen  pictures  by  Wouverman  and  ten  by  Jardin 
are  found  in  these  Dutch  rooms.  Though  modern  taste 
has  relegated  these  two  most  popular  painters  of  their 
day  to  nearly  complete  oblivion,  they  really  deserve 
neither  such  total  ignoring  nor  the  sweeping  condemna- 
tion bestowed  upon  them  by  Ruskin.  They  were  both 
men  of  decided  parts,  who  drew  with  a correct  and  facile 
pencil,  whose  colour  was  generally  pleasing  and  whose 
figures  had  individuality  and  not  seldom  distinction. 
Wouverman  especially  was  a tremendous  worker.  Smith 
in  his  “ Catalogue  Raisonne  ” crediting  him  with  between 
seven  and  eight  hundred  pictures.  They  both  painted  all 
sorts  of  subjects,  Wouverman  particularly  being  equally 
at  home  in  any  scene  from  a cavalry  charge  to  a picnic 
group  of  ladies  and  cavaliers.  He  delighted  in  filling  his 
compositions  with  horses,  and  generally  the  highest  light 
in  them  falls  upon  a white  horse.  It  is  a sign  of  his 
ingenuity  and  of  a certain  sort  of  fecundity,  that  he 
almost  never  has  duplicated  a single  picture.  Even  the 
white  horses  are  never  the  same.  In  spite  of  many  ex- 
cellencies neither  he  nor  Jardin  had  the  ability  or  the 
charm  of  either  of  the  Ostades. 

Among  Wouverman’s  more  important  works  in  the 
Lx)uvre  may  be  mentioned  The  Fat  Ox,  The  Stag  Hunt, 
and  The  Cavalry  Charge  that  is  in  Salle  XXVHI. 

In  the  first  of  these  the  ox  is  being  led  by  two  butchers 
along  a road  bordered  by  an  old  city  wall.  The  huge 
animal  is  ornamented  with  wreaths  and  bears  on  his 
back  two  great  glasses.  Leading  the  procession  are  a 
man  who  plays  a tambourine  and  some  children.  At  the 


222 


XLbc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


right  are  more  peasants  and  other  spectators,  among 
them  a cavalier  holding  his  son  on  the  saddle  before  him. 
This  picture  is  painted  in  the  silvery  gray  tones  Wouver- 
man  affected  toward  his  later  years. 

The  Charlatans  at  the  Fair  by  Jardin  is  a representa- 
tive work.  Standing  on  a platform  made  by  boards  rest- 
ing on  barrels,  the  quack  is  in  profile  haranguing  the 
crowd  before  him.  At  his  side  on  a table  is  his  big  open 
box  of  drugs  and  sitting  on  the  platform  with  his  legs 
crossed  and  a mask  on  his  face,  a harlequin  sings  to  his 
guitar.  Behind  the  quack,  peering  through  a crack  in 
some  curtains  Punchinello’s  face  is  seen  leering.  Among 
the  listening  crowd  are  a peasant  woman  with  a baby  on 
her  back,  a donkey  pannier-laden,  on  the  top  of  which 
sits  a boy,  a man  with  a great  cloak  drawn  about  him 
and  various  others.  It  is  a composition  which  on  the 
whole  justifies  Alexandre’s  remarks  that  both  Wouver- 
man  and  Jardin  were  painters  of  neither  the  real  Dutch 
nor  yet  of  the  Italian  schools.  They  followed  what 
happened  to  be  the  fashion  of  the  time  and  had  really 
few  ideas  and  less  originality  in  expressing  them. 

A much  greater  man  than  either  was  Aelbert  Cuyp  of 
Dordrecht,  who  has  six  panels  in  these  rooms.  Fro- 
mentin  places  him  in  the  “ first  rank,”  though  below  not 
only  Rembrandt,  of  course,  but  also  Ruysdael  and  Potter. 
He  has  been  called  the  “ Dutch  Claude,”  and  it  is  the  won- 
derful atmospheric  splendour  that  fills  his  canvases  that 
has  given  him  the  greatest  renown.  He  did  not  confine 
himself  to  landscape,  however,  portraiture,  still  life, 
flowers,  the  sea,  cattle,  horses  and  interiors  were  frequent 
subjects  for  his  facile  brush.  He  was  at  his  best,  never- 
theless, in  landscape,  in  which  he  always  placed  both 
people  and  animals.  His  colour,  especially  when  he 
portrays  the  hazy  mist  that  rises  over  sun-bathed  fields, 


Salles  fUf,  to 


223 


or  the  golden  pathway  across  a meadow  at  midday,  or 
again  when  the  cool  glimmer  of  the  moon  strikes  the 
silent  river  or  cuts  athwart  a bank,  then,  his  colour  is 
fairly  pulsating  with  an  effulgence  that  only  Claude 
before  him  approached  and  which  only  the  modern  im- 
pressionists have  excelled. 

One  of  his  best  works  here  is  the  landscape  in  Salle 
XXX.  At  the  right  in  the  foreground  a herd  of  cows 
graze  in  a field.  At  the  left,  some  children,  seated  near 
a dog,  listen  to  a shepherd  blowing  on  a reed.  In  the 
middle  distance  is  a river,  and  on  the  banks  opposite  the 
mills  and  houses  and  the  tower-clock  of  Dordrecht.  At 
the  right  upon  a mountainside  a flock  of  sheep  and  three 
shepherds. 

The  Marine  is  not  one  of  his  best,  but  the  Departure 
for  the  Promenade  is  a noted  example.  Two  mounted 
cavaliers  are  at  the  left  in  front  of  the  walls  of  a house. 
A servant  is  handing  one  of  them  his  stirrup,  the  other 
is  ready  to  ride  off.  There  is  much  bright  colour  here, 
with  the  horsemen  in  red  and  gold  and  black  and  gold, 
the  servant  with  his  green  coat  and  the  bay  and  dapple 
gray  horses.  Two  dogs  are  at  the  left  of  the  group,  one 
lying  down,  heedless  of  those  about,  the  other  standing 
watching.  The  light  is  brilliant  over  this  foreground 
group,  and  the  middle  distance  is  full  of  soft  haze.  The 
horses,  as  was  apt  to  be  the  case  with  Cuyp  are  rather 
too  large-headed  for  their  round  bodies. 

Unlike  most  Dutchmen  of  his  time,  Cuyp  did  not  care 
for  extreme  finish  or  polished  brush-work.  He  painted 
broadly  and  freely  and,  like  Rembrandt,  one  part  at 
least  of  his  picture  is  generally  lost.  Rembrandt  loses 
it  in  shadow,  Cuyp  lets  it  disappear  in  the  blaze  of  the 
sun. 

Though  Fromentin  places  Cuyp  on  a lower  plane  than 


224 


Zbc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


Paul  Potter,  there  are  few  of  Potter’s  actual  works  that 
are  equal  to  the  better  examples  of  Cuyp’s  talent.  Paul 
Potter  is  to  be  judged  rather  by  his  promise  than  by  his 
performance.  A recognized  painter  when  only  fifteen, 
he  died  of  the  wasting  disease  he  had  fought  from  boy- 
hood at  the  age  of  twenty-nine.  He  was  almost  entirely 
self-taught,  and  seems  to  have  been  little  influenced  by 
the  great  men  of  his  or  any  time.  If  he  had  lived  he 
undoubtedly  would  have  accomplished  greater  things 
in  his  chosen  line  than  even  the  famous  Bull  at  The 
Hague.  Most  of  his  paintings  that  are  scattered  among 
the  European  museums,  are,  in  comparison  with  this 
Bull,  tentative,  unskilled,  uncertain,  not  much  more  than 
studies.  In  them  is  seen  almost  nothing  but  his  picayun- 
ish  habit  of  emphasizing  detail,  drawdng  with  pains- 
taking care  every  branch,  twig  and  even  the  separate 
leaves  in  foliage,  outlining  the  feathers  of  a hen  or  duck, 
laying  the  fur  upon  his  cattle  as  it  were  hair  by  hair. 

One  of  his  pictures  at  the  Louvre  is  of  far  greater 
interest  than  most  of  these  studies.  It  is  called  Horses 
before  a Thatched  Cottage  and  is  in  Salle  XXVI.  A 
twilight  sky  full  of  soft  clouds  and  the  last  gleams  of 
departing  day ; a low  field  with  a river  in  front,  the 
houses  of  the  distant  village  cutting  against  the  horizon ; 
in  front  the  end  of  a thatched  cottage  with  its  chimney, 
and  before  it  two  farm-horses  standing  with  heads  down 
waiting  for  thpir  evening  meal ; coming  toward  them 
the  farm-boy  bearing  a pail  of  water,  and  beside  him  a 
dog  stopping  to  bark  at  something  in  the  distance ; this 
is  the  picture  which  Fromentin  regards  as  one  of  the 
most  perfect  examples  of  Potter’s  work  at  its  highest 
genius.  And  assuredly  it  is  not  onl)^  a marvellously 
truthfvd  portrayal  of  the  two  old  farm-horses,  drawn, 
modelled,  constructed  with  so  exact  a knowledge,  so 


Salles  fUf.  to  ffflDIT 


225 


just  a brush,  but  it  has  almost  as  much  of  the  mystery, 
the  beauty,  the  pathos  of  the  peasants’  life  and  the  dying 
day  as  a scene  by  Millet.  The  tone  of  the  luminous  sky, 
the  silhouette  of  the  farmer  are  as  full  of  charm  as  they 
are  of  scrupulous  truth.  As  for  the  beasts,  they  are  as 
remarkable  bits  of  fidelity  as  is  the  great  bull  himself, 
with  much  more  of  poetry  and  suggestion.  One  can  feel 
their  tired,  gasping  breathing,  one  can  see  the  tense 
muscles,  the  strained  haunches,  the  dragging  feet.  All 
is  there,  as  a poet  sees  it,  and  it  is  like  an  epitome  of  the 
peasant’s  life. 

The  Prairie,  says  Fromentin,  is  either  very  good  or  very 
bad  as  one  regards  it  as  the  work  of  a scholar  or  of  a 
master.  Signs  there  are  in  the  reddish  beast  standing 
in  the  cool  of  the  early  morning,  of  the  Bull  that  was  to 
come,  but  the  surety,  the  vigour,  the  wonderful  life 
are  lacking. 

Salle  XXV.  holds  a number  of  pictures  by  Ruysdael, 
generally  considered  Holland’s  greatest  landscape-painter. 
From  the  point  of  view  of  modern  art  his  canvases  are  too 
dull  in  key  and  somewhat  heavy.  But  he  had  a poetic 
mind  that  loved  best  the  sombre,  the  sorrowful,  and  to 
express  it  his  palette  needed  little  but  browns  and  grays 
and  darkening  greens.  “ He  transported  humanity  to 
the  heart  of  the  hills  that  it  might  be  still  and  reflect ; and 
he  allowed  no  gay  colour,  sunlight  or  blue  sky  to 
distract  the  attention.”  He  never  could  paint  figures, 
and  Berchem,  Van  de  Velde,  Wouverman  and  Lingel- 
bach  used  to  put  the  figures  into  his  scenes  for  him. 

The  Thicket,  in  Salle  XXV.  has  the  effect  of  being 
higher  in  its  general  key  than  usual  with  Ruysdael.  In 
the  middle  of  the  foreground  is  a cluster  of  trees  and 
bushes,  shaken  and  tumbled  and  bent  by  a fierce  wind, 
its  shadow  thrown  far  in  front  of  it.  This  thicket  makes 


226 


tlbe  Hrt  ot  tbe  Xouvre 


a sort  of  point  which  cuts  triangular-wise  into  a road- 
way coming  from  behind  it  and  thus  separated  into  two 
arms.  These  two  arms  and  the  unbroken  line  beyond  it 
are  in  brighter  sunlight  than  Ruysdael  often  achieved. 
Up  the  right  path  a man  and  three  dogs  are  walking  and 
beyond  at  the  left  the  village  spires  and  roofs  are  seen. 
The  sky  is  heavy  with  clouds,  but  is  broken  open  in  wide 
patches,  letting  the  sun  through.  It  is  a very  beautiful 
scene,  and  the  massing  of  the  shadow  in  front  with  the 
light  in  the  distance  gives  a perspective  as  full  of  charm 
as  it  is  of  distance.  The  sky  is  sympathetic,  arched,  full, 
and  the  mournful  note  that  as  usual  is  never  lacking,  has 
almost  lost  its  plaint  in  the  general  brightness  that  sur- 
charges so  much  of  sky  and  plain. 

Ruysdael’s  Tempest  in  the  same  room  has  been  con- 
sidered by  so  just  a critic  as  Michelet,  as  the  greatest 
gem  in  all  the  Louvre.  The  general  feeling  to-day,  how- 
ever, is  that  the  lashing  waves  are  sadly  deficient  in 
colour,  the  barks  that  are  scudding  under  bare  poles 
equally  wrongly  monochromatic,  and  in  fact  the  entire 
modern  view  of  what  colour  is  is  entirely  lacking  here. 
Yet  it  is  nevertheless  a real  tempest.  The  feeling  of  the 
angry  sea,  the  heave  and  throb  of  the  big  waves,  the 
anger  of  the  tumultuous  clouds  piled  in  serried  ranks, 
the  depth  of  the  shadow  flung  remorselessly  upon  all 
the  sea  except  where  a ray  of  light  brightens  a bit  of  the 
foreground  at  the  right  and  makes  one  slender  line  in 
front  of  the  horizon,  — ever}i;hing  adds  to  the  remorse- 
lessness of  the  waves  and  sky.  At  the  extreme  right 
where  the  thatched  cottage  and  its  orchard  are  only 
separated  by  a fence  of  piles  from  the  advancing  tide, 
the  shadow  that  envelopes  this  helpless  piece  of  land  is 
again  used  with  telling  effect.  It  is  as  if  it  would 
cover  with  its  darkness  the  ruin  that  certainly  soon  must 


Salles  fUf,  to  ffflDH 


227 


come.  Almost  one  waits  to  see  the  huge  ships  flung  pell- 
mell  on  to  this  unprotected  point.  Almost  one  sees  a 
fearful  wave  advancing  to  overwhelm  it. 

The  Ray  of  Sunlight  is  more  of  a classic  sort  of  scene. 
There  is  here  a sort  of  mixture  of  Holland  and  Norway, 
in  its  mountains  and  castle-crowned  hills.  It  is  the  illu- 
mination on  the  distant  hills  and  across  the  river  that 
is  so  entrancing,  joined  to  the  wonderful  gray  sky,  that 
throws  from  its  cloud-filled  arc  only  this  one  gleam. 

Eight  paintings  by  Gabriel  Metsu  give  a good  oppor- 
tunity to  study  this  Dutchman  who  was  a pupil  of  Dou 
and  who  was  undoubtedly  influenced  by  Rembrandt.  He 
was  on  the  whole  more  like  Ter  Borch  than  any  other, 
but  at  the  same  time  he  was  quite  himself  and  as  a whole 
deals  with  simpler  and  rather  more  elemental  states  than 
Ter  Borch. 

The  Vegetable  Market  in  Amsterdam  is  considered  one 
of  his  best  works  as  it  is  one  of  the  least  characteristic. 
He  did  not  often  depict  outdoors  nor  the  peasant  life, 
preferring  the  drawing-rooms  of  the  opulent.  In  this 
one  nevertheless  he  has  succeeded  as  admirably  as  would 
have  Steen  himself.  Squatted  about  their  piles  of  vege- 
tables the  merchants  harangue  their  customers  or  sell 
their  wares.  At  the  left  one  fat  woman,  seated  before 
her  carrots  and  turnips  is  repelling  indignantly  the  accu- 
sations of  another  woman,  who,  with  arms  akimbo, 
stands  facing  her,  evidently  treating  her  to  decided  vigour 
of  language  and  look.  Near  by  a young  gallant  in  a 
red  suit  tucks  his  plumed  hat  under  his  arm  and  leans 
forward  to  banter  the  girl  in  yellow  who  walks  sedately 
along,  her  brass  kettle  slung  over  her  arm.  In  front  of 
her  a hen  huddles  on  the  ground  and  on  top  of  a wicker 
cage  is  a rooster.  A dog  by  the  young  girl’s  side  is  view- 
ing this  gay  cock  with  a questioning  face,  much  to 


228 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


the  latter’s  disturbance.  Behind  these  are  other  men  and 
women  engaged  in  buying  and  selling.  The  market-street 
runs  along  a canal  and  on  this  is  a sailboat  and  across 
on  the  other  bank  a row  of  houses.  At  the  left,  with  its 
branches  almost  filling  the  entire  upper  part  of  the  picture 
is  a wide-spreading  tree  whose  shadow  largely  dominates 
the  scene.  It  gives  a vigorous  effect  to  the  view  and 
makes  the  aerial  perspective  of  which  Metsu  was  gen- 
erally master,  more  than  usually  telling  as  a compositional 
unit.  Like  most  of  the  Dutch  painters  Metsu  knew  how 
to  paint  dogs,  and  neither  Landseer  nor  Decamps  has 
succeeded  in  depicting  more  truly  dog  nature  than  he  has 
in  this  mildly  inquiring  spaniel  who  stands  with  feet 
well  planted,  quite  ready,  should  occasion  or  fun  decide, 
to  frighten  that  rooster  out  of  his  gaily  painted  feathers. 

There  is  another  even  more  amusing  little  beast  in  The 
Young  Woman  and  the  Officer,  which,  by  the  way,  is  a 
remarkably  fine  example  of  Metsu  in  his  best  known  field. 
This  scrap  of  a long-eared  canine  stands  at  the  left,  his 
four  tiny  paws  far  apart,  his  inquisitive  head  poked  far 
forward,  barking  a surprised  disapproval  of  this  visitor 
to  his  mistress.  He  plays  the  fussy  duenna  to  perfection, 
and  the  two  young  people  pay  as  much  attention  to  his 
objections  as  is  customary  in  such  cases.  The  richly 
dressed  young  woman  is  sitting  turning  toward  the  right, 
looking  up  smilingly  at  an  officer  who  stands  before  her, 
his  hat  in  his  right  hand,  his  left  resting  easily  on  a 
table  beside  him..  Back  of  the  hostess’s  chair  is  a young 
page,  bearing  a basket  of  fruit.  Dressed  in  a black  velvet 
overgown  with  petticoat  of  white  satin  and  guimpe,  fichu, 
and  big  bonnet  of  white  muslin,  the  young  woman  sits  bolt 
upright,  one  hand  on  her  knee  the  other  holding  a tall 
wine-glass.  The  formality  of  her  attitude  is  counter- 
balanced by  the  coquettish  tip  of  her  blond  head  and  her 


Salles  fUJ.  to  f^flDll 


229 


smiling  lips  and  eyes.  The  officer  appears  fully  conscious 
of  both  her  charms  and  her  delicate  reserves.  Complete 
and  most  graceful  homage  and  respect  are  in  the  slight 
forward  bend  of  his  well-knit  figure,  in  the  instinctive 
gesture  of  his  hand  holding  his  hat,  and  in  his  inclined 
head  and  lowered  eyes.  His  finely  curved  lips  smile 
with  undisguised  tenderness,  but  the  innate  good  taste 
and  good  breeding  of  the  man  are  even  more  apparent. 

The  chiaroscuro  of  this  little  scene  is  remarkably 
effective.  The  shadowed  background  against  which  the 
blacker  velvet  of  the  girl’s  dress  and  her  brilliant  white 
kerchief  come  out  so  brilliantly  suggest  somewhat  the 
spotting  of  Rembrandt.  Like  Rembrandt  too  are  the  spots 
of  high  light  on  the  white  neck  and  nose  of  the  dog, 
on  the  necktie  and  full  cuff  of  the  gallant,  and  on  the  edge 
of  the  page’s  salver.  Equally  noticeable,  but  more 
entirely  his  own  is  the  feeling  of  restraint  in  the  picture. 
It  is  not  only  the  well-indicated  reserve  and  good  taste 
of  the  two  young  people,  it  is  shown  as  well  in  the  sober- 
ness and  delicacy  of  colouring,  in  the  unforced  yet  telling 
scheme  of  chiaroscuro. 

In  The  Cook,  the  subject  of  the  picture  is  seated  by 
a table  on  which  is  a dead  hare  and  a wooden  basket, 
peeling  an  apple  from  the  tray  full  which  rests  on  a big 
basket  before  her.  A close  white  cap  and  kerchief  and 
white  undersleeves  make  strong  notes  of  contrast  against 
her  somewhat  toil-worn  skin.  There  is  a hint  of  weari- 
ness in  the  slight  strain  of  the  figure  and  in  the  eyes,  and 
Metsu  cleverly  indicates  that  this  is  no  model  posing  but 
a real  working  woman,  a bit  tired  with  her  daily  round 
of  duties.  Metsu  paints  less  accessories  than  Dou,  and 
in  this  case  he  has  only  represented  the  necessary  ad- 
juncts of  the  present  task  of  his  cook.  The  surety  of 
drawing,  the  fineness  of  characterization,  the  exactness 


230 


'Cbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


of  handling,  the  splendid  rendering  of  stuffs,  wooden 
utensils,  fur  of  the  hare,  the  table-cover,  all  do  not 
detract  in  their  perfection,  from  the  simple  intent  of  the 
picture  as  a whole. 

The  two  pictures  by  Pieter  de  Hooch  in  Salle  XXX. 
are  all  the  Louvre  owns  by  this  celebrated  Dutchman, 
who  was  influenced  greatly  by  Rembrandt,  though  it  is 
not  known  with  whom  he  studied.  This  influence  of 
Rembrandt,  too,  is  shown  in  a rather  unexpected  way. 
In  the  works  of  both  it  is  light  that  plays  such  an  impor- 
tant part.  But  Rembrandt  uses  his  brilliant,  forced 
spotting  to  illumine  a face,  to  make  an  expression  telling, 
to  lift  the  veil  of  the  soul.  Technically,  too,  he  employs  it 
especially  to  give  more  depth,  richness  and  intensity  to  his 
shadows.  With  half-tones,  also,  he  has  little  to  do.  De 
Hooch,  on  the  contrary,  employs  light  for  light’s  sake. 
It  is  never  his  object  to  treat  it  as  subservient  to  face  or 
form.  He  loves  it  for  itself  and  especially  as  it  patterns 
itself  on  bare  walls  or  through  half-open  windows.  He 
loves  eagerly  too,  the  intermediate  gradations  of  it,  from 
the  scarcely  shaded  reflections  through  the  softened 
dimmer  tones  of  inner  rooms  down  to  the  darkened  re- 
cesses of  half-hidden  corners.  It  is  to  be  doubted  if 
Rembrandt  ever  portrayed  real  sunlight.  De  Hooch,  on 
the  other  hand,  used  all  the  notes  and  tones  of  shadow, 
half-light  and  clear  reflection,  merely  to  make  more 
dazzling  his  final  outpouring  of  sunlight.  It  is  as  a 
painter  of  interiors  that  De  Hooch  is  largely  known, 
though  his  courtyards  and  gardens  are  equally  success- 
ful if  less  numerous.  And  these  interiors  are  really 
interiors,  not  pictures  of  people  within  certain  rooms. 
The  people  are  there  to  be  sure,  a few  at  a time.  But 
they  are  placed  generally  some  distance  away  from  the 
immediate  foreground.  Almost  always  there  is  a wide 


Salles  ffff.  to  fffM. 


231 


strip  of  tiled  floor  or  brick  yard  with  absolutely  nothing 
on  it  except  the  pattern  of  the  light  that  falls  from  a 
high  window  or  through  an  open  door.  Then,  instead 
of  following  the  example  of  most  of  the  Dutch  painters 
who  threw  their  strongest  light  upon  their  group  in  the 
foreground  and  massed  behind  them  the  clustering 
shadows  of  a room  beyond,  De  Hooch  again  pursued  an 
almost  opposite  course.  His  first  room  is  in  a half-light 
that  in  corners  grows  into  deep  if  translucent  shadow. 
Back  of  this  another  room  opens  and  that,  being  so  much 
nearer  the  court  or  yard  is  in  higher  light.  Opening  out 
of  that  comes  perhaps  the  court  itself  where  the  undiluted 
sunshine  plays  gaily.  The  skill  such  treatment  requires 
it  is  not  necessary  to  dwell  upon.  In  his  own  line  there 
never  was  a more  masterly  technician. 

The  Cottage  Interior  shows  excellently  De  Hooch’s 
usual  method  of  dealing  with  light.  In  this  case  the 
principal  figures  are  more  in  the  foreground  than  usual, 
but  to  make  up  for  that  there  is  a wide,  unbroken  floor- 
ing between  them  and  the  third  figure.  It  represents  a 
room  where  soft  shadows  lie,  though  at  the  back  is  an 
open  door  with  windows  above  and  at  the  side.  Another 
door  swings  open  at  a right  angle  to  this  central  one, 
showing  the  first  steps  of  a flight  of  narrow  stairs  and 
a part  of  a high  leaded  window.  The  first  door  opens  into 
a walled  court  beyond  which  still  another  door  leads  into 
a low  shed,  whose  unwindowed  interior  makes  a dark 
oblong  that  repeats  the  dark  tones  of  the  immediate 
foreground.  Above  the  walls  of  the  court  a bit  of  the 
bright  sky  makes  a triangle  of  colour  seen  through  the 
windows  of  the  large  room.  In  the  first  room,  in  the 
right-hand  corner,  a woman  sits  before  a low  table  on 
which  is  a big  hooped  bowl  or  tub.  She  is  pausing  in  her 
work  to  look  at  a tiny  girl  who,  in  a white  ruff  and  cap, 


232 


Ubc  Hrt  of  tbe  3Louv>re 


stands  beside  her  holding  a plaything.  The  only  real 
glints  of  light  that  actually  filter  into  this  rather  dim 
apartment  are  those  that  strike  the  mother’s  cap  and 
kerchief,  the  top  of  her  right  hand,  a spot  on  the  hoops 
of  the  basin,  and  the  child’s  cap  and  ruff.  Nowhere  else 
except  through  a crack  in  the  door  does  the  sunlight 
steal  in.  The  third  figure  of  the  scene  is  a woman  shown 
walking  toward  the  shed  in  the  court.  Her  light  blue 
hood  and  kerchief  contrast  with  her  dark  skirt  which 
breaks  what  would  be  otherwise  a rather  monotonously 
lighted  distance. 

Perhaps,  next  to  the  delight  this  charming  management 
of  light  gives  to  the  spectator,  comes  the  appreciation 
of  this  scene  in  its  household  aspects.  The  composition 
breathes  a spirit  of  tranquil  happiness,  of  a placid  life 
that  somehow  penetrates  more  and  more  the  longer  it  is 
studied.  And  gradually  is  forgotten  the  technique,  the 
mastery  of  material,  and  all  that  skilful  adjusting  and 
arranging  of  light  becomes  only  a part  of  the  real  thing, 
which  is  to  give  just  this  feeling  of  domestic  sweetness 
and  placid  calm. 

In  the  Card  Party,  called  often  merely  A Dutch  In- 
terior, Pieter  de  Hooch  has  chosen  more  aristocratic  sur- 
roundings and  personages  than  is  his  general  custom. 
Also  he  has  employed  almost  not  at  all  his  way  of  showing 
open  rooms  beyond  the  first.  The  only  suggestion  of  an 
outlet  is  the  narrow  doorway  behind  the  page,  which  gives 
but  an  edge  of  window  and  floor  of  the  apartment  behind 
him.  At  the  back,  through  a high  window  a bit  of  sky 
and  tree-top  can  be  seen,  but  take  it  altogether  there  is 
much  more  uniformity  of  light  here  than  is  often  found  in 
a De  Hooch. 

At  the  left,  before  an  open  fire  under  a sort  of  porch- 
like mantel  of  rich  marble  columns,  sits  a young  girl 


THE  CARD  PARTY  (A  DUTCH  INTERIOR) 
By  Pieter  de  Hooch 


tv 


Salles  to  JffDH 


233 


showing  her  hand  of  cards  to  the  gentleman  standing 
behind  her,  holding  a glass  of  wine,  and  evidently  direct- 
ing her  play.  These  two  are  in  full  light,  a cross-light, 
indeed,  made  by  window  and  dancing  fire-flames.  Her 
scarlet  waist,  lace  kerchief,  and  yellow  silk  skirt  mass 
brilliantly  against  the  darkened  corner  of  the  room  behind 
her,  and  her  laughing  face  with  its  bright  eyes  and 
shining  teeth  adds  to  the  effect.  The  man  with  whom 
she  is  playing  is  at  the  other  side  of  the  table  and  is 
thrown  into  deep  shadow  by  the  columns  of  the  fireplace. 
Behind  is  a window  dimly  seen  through  its  drawn  curtain, 
and  farther  along  at  the  right,  under  windows  that  are 
open,  stand  a young  man  and  woman  whispering 
together,  their  hands  clasped.  The  light  falls  over  their 
heads  so  that  they  are  in  shadow,  as  well  as  the  page 
bearing  the  bottle  of  wine  at  their  left.  Between  these 
and  the  card-player,  stretches  the  tiled  floor  of  yellow  and 
gray  and  black  porcelains,  in  a checkered  pattern  which 
De  Hooch  has  used  most  effectively  to  show  the  broken 
lights.  Here,  as  ever,  it  is  light  that  the  painter  was 
enraptured  with  and  he  makes  the  spectator  as  enraptured 
as  himself,  which  is  proof  sufficient  of  his  success. 

Of  Vermeer,  the  Louvre  only  possesses  the  Lace  Maker 
in  Salle  XXIX.  Vermeer  was  as  original  as  De  Hooch, 
as  full  of  a charming  reserve  as  Ter  Borch.  He  was 
a painter  of  enigmatical,  smiling  women,  generally  gentle- 
women, of  quiet,  reposeful  motions.  His  palette  is 
brighter,  lighter  and  more  penetrating  than  either  of  the 
other  two.  He  especially  loved  yellow,  soft  blues  and 
delicate  greens.  The  little  Lacemaker  is  a sympathetic 
and  interesting  bit  but  hardly  sufficient  to  show  his  style 
or  capabilities.  The  figure  is  capitally  drawn,  the  hands 
especially  well  characterized,  the  face  full  of  suggestion 
and  charm. 


234 


Ubc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


Seven  or  eight  pictures  by  Adriaen  Van  de  Velde  in 
these  Dutch  rooms  show  him  worthy  of  the  fame  he  is 
accorded.  He  painted  all  sorts  of  subjects,  but  is  best 
known  by  his  landscape  and  cattle  scenes.  Some  of  these 
latter  are  quite  equal  to  Paul  Potter’s.  Among  the 
painters  of  landscape  he  is  one  of  the  few  who  could  paint 
figures,  and  Wynants,  Ruysdael,  Hobbema  and  Van  der 
Heyden  often  got  him  to  put  figures  into  their  pictures. 

The  Beach  at  Scheveningen  is  one  of  his  best  works 
at  the  Louvre.  Alexandre  calls  it  “ one  of  our  Dutch 
jewels.”  It  was  bought  by  Louis  XVI.  who  had  a passion 
for  Dutch  paintings  as  his  ancestors  had  for  Italian. 

On  the  shore  is  the  Prince  of  Orange  in  his  coach 
drawn  by  six  little  white  horses,  the  members  of  his 
suite  following.  At  the  right  are  a fisherman  carrying 
a net,  a man  and  woman  talking,  and  a boat  drawn  up 
on  the  sand.  Behind  the  dunes  rise  two  clock-towers  and 
in  the  distance  appears  a coach  with  two  horses.  The 
gray  shore,  the  men  in  their  blue  suits,  the  dogs,  the 
“ plein  d’air,”  the  whole  vivid  life  of  the  long  beach  is 
here  so  clearly,  so  justly  shown,  that  a certain  monotonous 
grayness  of  colour  is  scarcely  felt.  The  horses  are 
admirably  drawn,  though  their  heads  are  a trifle  small. 
But  their  attitudes  are  diverse  and  full  of  movement  and 
spirit  and  their  colour  against  the  gray  sands  makes  a 
fine  “ spotting.” 

Early  morning  is  the  time  represented  in  Landscape 
and  Cattle  in  Salle  XXX.,  and  though  Van  de  Velde 
did  not  choose  the  colours  to  express  this  time  of  day 
that  either  Corot  or  the  latter-day  impressionists  would 
have  employed,  he  has  nevertheless  succeeded  in  giving 
the  effect  of  the  new-risen  sun  with  no  uncertain  touch. 
Most  of  the  picture  is  in  cool  tones,  rather  mono- 
chromatic in  their  lack  of  variety.  Only  here  and 


Salles  to  f ffM. 


235 


there  do  the  glints  of  the  sun  gild  the  marsh  or  out- 
line a branch  or  strike  more  fully  on  the  back  of  some 
of  the  animals.  The  sky  shows  purple  and  red  through 
the  clouds  that  bank  midway  in  its  arch,  and  this 
sky  fills  more  than  two-thirds  of  the  entire  canvas,  or 
wooden  panel,  as  is  not  only  this  but  many  of  the 
Dutch  pictures.  At  the  left  on  a hillock  are  a weather- 
beaten tree,  a low  hut,  some  horses,  goats,  sheep  and  cattle. 
Just  below  these  animals  on  a point  extending  into  the 
water  sit  a fisherman  with  rod  and  line  and  another 
peasant  leaning  on  his  elbows.  Still  farther  to  the  left 
are  one  of  the  cattle  lying  down  and  a goat.  All  these 
are  in  the  demi-tone  of  the  half-shadow.  Filling  the  centre 
of  the  picture  are  more  animals,  some  standing  on  the 
grassy  marsh  edge,  others  wading  in  the  water.  In 
the  distance,  a line  of  land  with  trees  and  houses  and 
another  herd  at  the  water’s  edge. 

The  Woman  at  Her  Toilet  in  Salle  XXVIII.  by  Frans 
van  Mieris  the  elder,  is  one  of  several  by  him  owned  by 
the  Louvre.  He  is  called  “ the  elder  ” because  his  son 
and  grandson  were  both  followers  of  him.  In  his  style 
of  painting  he  was  largely  influenced  by  Dou  with  whom 
he  studied.  His  work  is  dry,  minute  and  over-elaborate, 
he  has  little  invention  and  less  imagination.  Though 
painting  before  the  decadence  had  reached  full  swing, 
he  nevertheless  is  to  be  ranked  among  the  men  who  had 
lost  the  great  Dutch  spirit.  As  an  imitator  he  was  more 
or  less  successful  and  he  was  extremely  popular  during 
his  life. 

In  the  Woman  at  Her  Toilet,  a richly  dressed  dame 
stands  before  a table  on  which  is  a large  mirror,  ar- 
ranging her  hair.  At  the  right  a negress  carries  a 
ewer  and  a basin,  and  an  open  door  shows  a side  of  a 
portico  with  columns. 


236 


XCbe  Hrt  ot  tbe  Xouvre 


There  is  no  hint  of  the  decadence  in  the  work  of  Jan 
Steen  who  has  three  paintings  in  the  Louvre.  Of  these 
three  the  Flemish  Fete  in  an  Inn  is  an  uproarious  scene 
in  a huge  tavern.  Long  tables  run  down  one  side  at 
which  men  and  women  sit  drinking,  while  a dance  is 
going  on  behind,  and  at  one  side  a drunken  woman  is 
being  pulled  up-stairs  by  two  men.  Everywhere  are  to 
be  seen  indiscriminate  embracing  and  the  effects  of  over- 
imbibing. It  is  not  an  elevating  scene,  not  a moral 
scene,  not  even  a respectable  scene.  But  it  is  consummate 
art.  The  drawings  of  the  figures,  the  composition  of  the 
groups,  the  joining  of  the  many  adverse  groups  into  one 
complete  whole  are  the  work  of  a man  who  has  scarcely 
an  equal  as  a master  of  composition.  It  is  not  strange 
that  some  most  eminent  critics  have  claimed  that  Raphael 
himself  never  surpassed  him  in  this  power  of  making  a 
picture. 

By  far  the  best  of  his  pictures  here  is  the  Bad  Com- 
pany. Again,  it  is  not  a scene  to  elevate  thought,  morals, 
or  spirit,  unless  it  can  be  used  as  a fearful  warning ! It 
is  the  interior  evidently  of  some  sort  of  tavern  or  house 
of  ill-fame.  Wholly  overcome  by  the  wine  he  has  been 
drinking,  a gay  cavalier  is  doubled  over  in  his  chair,  one 
arm  hanging  limp  between  his  knees,  his  head  dropped  on 
to  the  knee  of  the  young  girl  sitting  in  a chair  facing 
him.  The  girl,  whose  knee  makes  his  pillow  sits  very 
stiff  and  straight,  a tall  glass  of  liquor  still  in  her  hand, 
a drunken  imbecility  on  her  face.  Behind  these  two  are 
two  women.  The  one  on  the  left  is  back  to,  busily  en- 
gaged rifling  the  pockets  of  the  young  gallant  and  hand- 
ing the  contents  over  to  the  old  hag  who  stands  behind  the 
girl’s  chair,  the  young  fellow’s  rapier  alert  in  her  hands, 
and  his  cloak  over  her  shoulder.  The  grin  of  delighted 
expectation  on  her  face  is  wonderfully  expressed.  Back 


BAD  COMPANY 
By  Jan  Steen 


Salles  fUf . to 


237 


in  the  shadow  a musician  is  playing  and  another  old 
villain  is  smoking,  while  both  keep  their  eyes  on  the 
comedy  going  on  in  front. 

The  satirical  glee  of  this  picture  is  something  extraor- 
dinary. It  is  in  looking  at  a canvas  like  this  that  one 
understands  why  this  Dutch  painter  has  been  likened 
to  Moliere,  why  he  has  been  called  the  greatest  wit, 
the  greatest  comiqiie  and  the  greatest  satirist  in  painting. 
Hogarth  is  the  painter  nearest  akin  to  him  but  Hogarth  is 
not  so  subtle,  nor  so  ingenious  as  Steen.  Hogarth  moral- 
izes, Steen  lets  his  spectators  do  their  own  moralizing. 
As  a technician,  when  he  chooses,  he  is  equally  unap- 
proachable. What  could  be  more  absolutely  true  to  inert 
life  than  that  limp  gallant  with  his  weight  so  solidly 
thrown  upon  the  knees  of  the  girl?  Did  ever  a hand 
hang  just  so  loose,  so  fallen,  except  in  somnolent  life 
itself?  Equally  remarkable  is  the  girl’s  figure  with  its 
unconscious,  braced  knees,  its  stiff  pressure  combined 
with  its  mental  abandonment.  The  relation  between  these 
two  and  those  behind  and  the  two  men  farther  back,  is 
no  less  vividly  actual.  Looking  at  it  all,  it  is  easy  to 
realize,  as  has  been  said  so  many  times,  that  Steen 
occupies  a place  quite  alone,  not  only  in  Dutch,  but  in  all 
art. 

He  studied  with  Van  Goyen  and  Adriaen  van  Ostade 
and  the  influence  of  both  men  can  be  seen  in  his  work. 
His  biographers  have  called  him  a rake  and  a drunkard, 
but  it  is  pretty  well  established  now  that  his  reputation 
was  largely  made  by  the  pictures  he  painted.  The  fact 
that  he  left  behind  him  a most  appalling  number  of 
paintings  did  not  until  comparatively  lately  count  as  evi- 
dence in  his  favour.  Certainly  a wholly  dissipated  indi- 
vidual could  not  have  accomplished  a tenth  part  of 
them. 


238 


XTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


Almost  as  unrivalled  in  his  own  chosen  field  as  Steen 
in  his,  is  Hondecoeter,  who  also  has  three  pictures  in 
these  rooms.  No  one  else  has  ever  devoted  himself 
so  wholly  or  so  successfully  to  portraying  the  feathered 
tribe  as  this  man,  who,  like  De  Hooch  was  born  in 
Utrecht,  only  six  years  after  him. 

His  Two  Eagles  in  a Poultry  Yard  is  precisely  what 
the  title  calls  it.  The  poultry-yard  is  in  a country-side 
which  is  traversed  by  a river.  At  the  right  an  eagle  has 
grabbed  a hen  in  his  claws  and  is  flying  off  with  him, 
while  in  the  centre  of  the  scene  another  is  capturing  a 
cock.  Running  about  in  fearful  distress  are  pigeons 
and  hens,  trying  to  save  themselves  from  what  they 
believe  is  to  be  total  slaughter.  In  the  distance  is  a ruined 
chateau  and  at  the  right  a village.  Though  Hondecoeter 
can  only  be  seen  to  advantage  at  The  Hague  or  in  Amster- 
dam, this,  like  the  other  two  here  show  how  wonderfully 
he  could  depict  the  life,  the  colour,  the  vivacity,  the 
plumage  of  these  animals. 

Quite  a different  talent  still  had  Van  der  Heyden,  who 
is  sometimes  called  the  Gerard  Dou  of  architecture.  He 
painted  the  old  Dutch  streets  and  squares  with  a fidelity 
and  scrupulous  attention  to  detail  that  make  his  works 
valuable  as  historical  documents.  Many  of  the  buildings 
and  places  he  depicted  so  lovingly  no  longer  exist  at 
all  and  can  only  be  known  through  his  panels.  Though 
his  particular  care  for  the  shape  of  the  bricks,  the  paving- 
stones,  the  panes  in  the  windows  becomes  at  times 
decidedly  amusing,  on  the  whole  it  does  not  spoil  the 
effect  of  the  picture  as  a compositional  unit.  He  never 
could  paint  trees  well  and  his  figures  were  mostly  put  in 
by  Adriaen  Van  de  Velde,  who  was  his  great  friend. 
His  achievements  in  perspective  show  him  to  have  been 


Salles  to  fffM 


239 


a thoroughly  trained  draughtsman  and  he  had  beside  a 
fine  feeling  for  values  and  for  atmosphere. 

The  Village  on  the  Banks  of  a Canal,  in  Salle  XXIX., 
has  a diagonal  line,  but  very  well  broken,  of  pathway  and 
buildings  that  reaches  from  the  right  side  of  the  picture 
to  the  left  in  the  far  distance.  Filling  what  makes  a lower 
left-hand  square  is  the  canal.  The  straggling  line  of 
houses,  churches  and  trees  forms  an  interesting  and  di- 
versified mass  against  the  sky,  and  the  quiet  of  its  almost 
deserted  path  is  supplemented  by  the  square-bowed  Dutch 
fishing-boats  in  the  canal,  their  squat  heaviness  suggesting 
only  a slow  and  torpid  existence.  The  effect  of  light  is 
well  studied,  if  it  is  rather  cold  and  thin,  and  the  picture 
has  merits  in  composition  and  in  a feeling  of  sober 
earnestness. 

Two  pictures  by  Hobbema  are  in  Salle  XXVI.  He  has 
been  continually  compared  to  Ruysdael  but  he  really  does 
not  greatly  resemble  him.  He  was  a good  deal  younger 
than  Ruysdael  and  was  undoubtedly  influenced  by  him. 
It  is  only  within  a few  years  that  his  canvases  have  been 
greatly  appreciated  and  most  of  his  work  is  owned  in 
England  who  was  the  first  to  value  him  at  his  true 
worth.  It  has  been  often  said  that  Ruysdael,  Wynants 
and  Hobbema  were  the  forerunners  of  Constable  and  the 
English  landscape  school  as  Constable  was  of  Rousseau, 
Diaz  and  the  Erench  of  that  day.  At  least  it  is  true  that 
these  painters  of  the  seventeenth  century  did  what  no 
others  had  so  far  done : painted  landscape  as  landscape 
and  for  its  own  sake,  not  as  background  for  figures.  And 
they  did  get  a remarkable  atmospheric  feeling  in  their 
scenes,  and  their  skies  had  depth,  expanse,  vastness  and 
luminosity  as  well  as  splendid  aerial  perspective.  Their 
trees,  rocks,  mountains  and  waterfalls  too,  showed  care- 
ful drawing  and  exact  delineation.  Their  trees  bent  with 


240 


Zbt  Hrt  of  tbe  !ILouvre 


the  storm,  one  sees  and  feels  the  toss  of  their  branches, 
the  scattering  of  their  leaves,  the  sharp  tension  of  their 
withstanding  trunks.  Equally  successful  are  they  in  show- 
ing the  rush  and  power  of  waves  and  waterfalls.  In  fact 
the  motion  of  outdoors  life  they  portrayed  with  facility 
and  power.  And  if  their  sunlight  was  not  real  sunlight, 
at  least  their  values  were  both  just  and  sure.  Ruysdael 
was  far  more  of  a poet  than  Hobbema,  but  Hobbema  was 
a much  better  painter. 

In  The  Landscape  a curving  roadway  is  at  the  right, 
a tranquil  brook  flows  across  the  foreground,  and  wdnds 
among  the  trees  that  mass  in  the  centre  and  at  the  left 
into  a forest.  This  is  the  picture,  with  the  addition  of  a 
high,  arching  sky  cloud-strewn,  yet  full  of  light.  Shadow 
and  sunlight  flash  over  the  road,  the  brook,  the  trees,  now' 
sharpening  a trunk,  now  silvering  a bunch  of  foliage, 
now  streaking  widely  the  distant  plain,  anon  submerging 
in  mystery  the  recesses  of  the  woods.  The  light  is  thus 
seen  to  be  not  centralized  nor  specially  focalized ; it  is 
somewhat  spotty  and  scattered.  Yet  it  does  give  the 
effect  of  outdoors.  This  too,  in  spite  of  certain  browmness 
and  grayness  of  colouring. 

The  Water-Mill  was  a subject  Hobbema  often  painted. 
In  this  one  he  gives  wdth  photographic  clearness  and  in- 
sistence of  detail  the  big  wheel,  the  sheds,  the  bare  logs, 
the  bridge,  the  quiet  water,  the  bordering  trees.  It  is  the 
luminous  sky  which  saves  the  scene  from  being  common- 
place. The  two  trees  in  the  foreground  also  are  marvels 
of  careful  draughtsmanship.  Even  better  in  effect  are 
those  silhouetted  against  the  sky  in  the  middle  distance. 

There  is  one  beautiful  little  picture  in  Salle  XXXHI. 
by  Maes,  w'ho  was  a pupil  of  Rembrandt,  and  who  did 
not  lose  his  individuality  even  in  such  close  proximity 
to  the  great  man.  His  most  important  work  was  done 


Salles  fUf . to  fffOT. 


241 


very  early,  his  later  years  showing  the  decadence  that 
settled  upon  all  the  painters  of  Antwerp  at  that  time. 
Though  he  w|as  a very  popular  portrait-painter,  he  is  at 
his  best  in  genre  subjects  such  as  the  Blessing  here. 
If  this  is  the  work  of  a boy  only  sixteen  years  old  as  is 
claimed,  it  is  a remarkable  performance.  The  picture  is 
on  wood,  only  twenty-two  inches  high  by  sixteen  wide, 
and  represents  an  old  woman  sitting  alone  before  her 
midday  meal,  silently  asking  a blessing.  The  lighting  is 
simple  and  most  effective,  the  colour  tender.  But  it  is 
the  religious  fervour,  the  deep  feeling  in  the  old  peasant’s 
face,  the  inward  and  real  piety  expressed  in  the  fragile 
body  before  her  lonely  meal,  the  expression  of  the  whole 
quiet  scene  that  makes  this  seem  like  an  early  Millet. 

The  Singing  Lesson  and  the  Lesson  on  the  Bass  Viol 
by  Casper  Netscher  in  Salle  XXIX.,  are  fair  examples  of 
this  pupil  of  Ter  Borch.  Like  his  master  Netscher 
painted  scenes  taken  from  the  gentle  life  of  Holland.  He 
has  a certain  sort  of  delicate  charm,  that  nevertheless  does 
not  make  him  anywhere  near  the  equal  of  his  master. 
A rather  laborious  style  in  composition,  a sufficiently 
accurate  hand  in  drawing,  a trained  taste  in  lighting,  a 
decent  sort  of  sobriety  are  all  to  be  found  in  Netscher’s 
works  as  well  as  a true  Dutch  ability  in  the  correct 
rendering  of  silks,  satins,  velvets,  utensils  and  the  like. 
No  one  can  paint  white  satin  with  greater  brilliance, 
luminosity,  sheen  and  reflection  than  he.  He  fairly  revels 
in  the  line  of  a satin  fold  that  catches  the  light  on  its 
curve,  and  then  melts  into  the  shadow  that  still  reflects 
some  of  the  mellow  sheen  of  its  lights.  There  is  a rich- 
ness, a play  of  tones  to  his  brush  then  that  he  never  gets 
anywhere  else. 

The  Singing  Lesson  is  just  such  a subject  as  Ter 
Borch  or  Metsu  would  have  chosen,  but  both  of  these 


242 


Zhc  Hrt  ot  tbe  Xouvre 


men  v/ould  have  expressed  it  in  a simpler  way.  The 
three  figures  are  naturally  placed,  if  in  a too  evident  tri- 
angle, the  drawing  is  admirable  (notice  how  the  weight 
of  the  girl  rests  upon  her  chair),  the  focusing  of  light  on 
the  central  figure  is  full  and  free  of  spots,  and  finally  the 
interest  is  well  sustained  and  well  led  up  to.  It  is  the 
overdone,  or  oversized  details  that  help  to  make  it  so 
far  below  Ter  Borch.  The  large  statue  of  the  wrestlers 
placed  directly  behind  the  group  in  the  niche  in  the  wall, 
the  voluminous  heavily  brocaded  table-cover,  the  too 
big  and  too  prominent  canister  with  its  bottles  and 
grape  leaves,  and  finally  the  triangular  space  at  the  left 
of  the  background  opening  into  the  Italian  sort  of  land- 
scape, — all  these  things  distract  the  eye  and  lower  the 
value  of  the  picture.  But  the  white  satin  gown  of  the  girl 
sitting  down  is  beautiful  enough  to  excuse  a thousand 
faults.  Its  stretch  across  her  knees,  the  soft  wide  shadow 
below,  the  little  glints  and  gleams  on  her  lap  and  down 
over  the  deeper  folds  on  the  side,  the  brilliancy  as  it  falls 
straight  from  her  left  knee,  the  feel  of  its  shimmering 
surface,  all  this  Netscher  knew  how  to  express  better  than 
almost  any  one. 

The  Lesson  on  the  Bass  Viol  has  not  so  much  objec- 
tionable detail,  and  in  it  again  is  a delectable  white  satin 
gown.  In  the  middle  of  the  picture  sits  the  young  blonde 
girl  playing  upon  the  big  viol.  She  has  just  turned  her 
head  to  the  left  to  look  at  a piece  of  music  which  her 
teacher  behind  her  is  showing.  At  the  right  a charming 
boy  page  holds  a violin  and  waits  with  very  reverent  air. 
This  child’s  face  is  the  best  thing  in  the  picture,  even 
better  for  once  than  the  white  satin  gown.  The  childlike 
interest  in  his  eyes,  watching  so  intently,  the  unconscious 
forward  thrust  of  his  head,  his  almost  open  lips,  the  awk- 


Salles  fUf.  to 


243 

ward  and  boyish  pose,  this  is  better  work  than  Netscher 
usually  accomplished. 

The  pictures  of  Van  der  Werff  in  these  rooms  do  not 
require  extended  description.  He  was  the  greatest  ex- 
emplar of  the  Italianate-decadence  of  Dutch  art,  and  in 
his  own  day  was  greatly  admired  and  his  works  eagerly 
bought  by  prince  and  merchant.  His  drawing  was  supple, 
clear  and  at  times  distinguished.  His  draperies  were 
pliant,  graceful,  perfectly  drawn  and  modelled.  His 
modelling  in  general  was  solid  yet  delicate,  but  extremely 
hard.  His  flesh  was  like  marble  or  plaster  in  substance 
and  was  cold  and  unsympathetic  in  colour.  He  spent 
most  of  his  time  painting  nymphs,  goddesses  and  Scrip- 
tural scenes  and  assiduously  imitated  the  decadent  Ital- 
ians. The  Dancing  Nymph,  in  Salle  XXVHI.  is  a fair 
average  as  well  as  the  group  of  half-length  figures  in 
Salle  XXXIV. 

With  the  name  of  Huysum,  the  middle  of  the  eight- 
eenth century  is  reached,  when  Dutch  art,  like  Italian,  is 
so  far  below  its  Renaissance  level  that  its  very  heights 
would  seem  like  the  deep  valleys  of  that  happier  day.  In 
his  own  way,  however,  Huysum  was  a remarkable  painter 
and  is  still  deserving  of  consideration.  He  was  the  great- 
est fruit  and  flower  painter  of  his  age,  and  even  now  his 
pictures  are  regarded  as  wonderful  examples  of  an  un- 
usual sort  of  skill.  With  the  taste  characteristic  of  his 
time,  he  loved  best  a perfect  melange  of  flowers  and  fruit. 
Roses  of  all  kinds,  tulips,  jonquils,  pinks,  hyacinths,  lilies, 
every  sort  of  bloom  he  would  put  into  his  vase  of  Grecian 
shape  resting  on  the  marble  table.  Curiously  enough, 
though  it  was  as  a flower  and  fruit-painter  that  he  made 
his  reputation  and  money,  he  never  ceased  longing  to 
be  a landscape-painter  and  it  is  said  of  him  that  he  was 
always  going  into  the  country  there  to  paint  with  pains- 


244  'JTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 

taking  care  the  little  scenes  that  remind  one  of  Poelen- 
burg  though  his  sylvan  figures  are  clumsy  and  heavy. 
The  fruit  and  flower  pieces  in  the  Louvre  scarcely  require 
description.  The  four  landscapes  show  his  minute  care 
and  somewhat  leaden  brush. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


SALON  CARRE 

The  Salon  Carre  marked  Room  IV.  on  the  plan,  con- 
tains the  chief  gems  of  the  Italian  paintings  owned  by  the 
Louvre,  as  well  as  a few  examples  of  other  schools. 

Of  all  the  famous  pictures  hung  in  this  famous  room 
none,  probably,  is  better  known  or  has  been  more  praised 
than  the  Mona  Lisa,  La  Gioconda,  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci. 
From  the  time  of  Vasari  to  the  present  century  language 
has  been  exhausted  in  efforts  to  find  new  panegyrics  for 
this  creation.  No  praise  has  been  too  great,  no  adoration 
too  excessive,  no  amazement  at  its  perfection  too  over- 
wrought. The  portrait  is  so  universally  and  thoroughly 
known  that  description  seems  quite  unnecessary.  Yet, 
when  Vasari’s  glowing  words  are  recalled,  extolling  its 
marvellous  bloom  of  colour,  its  palpitating  flesh,  its  limpid 
eye,  its  cheeks  of  rose,  its  lips  of  carnation,  its  exquisite 
eyebrows  and  eyelashes,  its  hands  of  pearl,  its  landscape 
background  as  real  as  nature  herself,  the  first  look  at  the 
picture  must  surely  be  disappointing.  For  the  rose,  the 
carnation,  the  bloom  of  the  lovely  face  have  gone.  The 
greens  and  browns  of  the  trees,  the  soft  azure  of  the  sky, 
the  sparkling  tones  of  the  winding  stream  have  all  turned 
to  a blue-green  background  that  makes  still  whiter  the 
white  chalky  face  and  emphasizes  the  disappearance  of 
the  brows  and  eyelashes  over  which  Vasari  raves.  And 

245 


246 


Zbc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


yet,  after  the  first  surprised  look,  the  spell  of  the  picture 
steals  over  you  as  it  stole  over  Vasari,  as  it  has  over 
every  one  who  has  looked  at  it  for  four  hundred  years. 
Those  soft,  melting  eyes  see  as  far  into  the  soul’s  myster- 
ies as  they  did  when  Frangois  I.  bought  it  for  three  thou- 
sand golden  crowns  from  its  reluctant  painter.  That  full, 
broad  brow,  that  noble  neck,  that  firm  white  bosom,  those 
perfect  hands  so  temptingly  beautiful  in  line  and  curve 
— all  these  are  the  same  even  if  the  glory  of  the  colour 
has  departed.  And  beyond  these,  dominating  every  one 
as  it  dominates  the  portrait  itself,  is  that  subtle,  tantaliz- 
ing, inscrutable,  untranslatable  smile,  surely  never  more 
full  of  meaning,  never  more  elusive,  never  more  appeal- 
ing or  more  repelling,  more  lovable  or  more  malicious, 
more  full  of  pure  amusement  or  more  cynical,  — what- 
ever ones  point  of  view,  — four  hundred  years  ago  than  it 
is  to-day. 

The  portrait  is  of  the  wife  of  Francesco  del  Giocondo 
and  for  over  four  years  Leonardo  kept  the  picture  with 
him,  working  on  it  as  he  chose  or  could  get  his  model, 
and  calling  it  unfinished  even  when  Frangois  1.  per- 
suaded him  to  part  with  it. 

The  Virgin,  St.  Anne  and  the  Child  Jesus  by  Leonardo 
is  supposed  to  be  one  of  the  pictures  the  painter  took 
with  him  to  France  when  he  entered  the  French  king’s 
service.  It  found  its  way  back  to  Italy  afterward,  how- 
ever, and  did  not  reappear  in  France  till  bought  by  Riche- 
lieu. There  is  some  doubt  as  to  whether  the  picture  is 
entirely  by  Da  Vinci,  in  spite  of  the  Leonardesque  t}'pe 
of  face  of  Mary  and  Anne.  Mary  is  shown  sitting  in 
her  mother’s  lap,  while  Jesus  who  is  in  her  arms  plays 
with  a lamb.  Anne  is  scarcely  older  than  IMary  in  ap- 
pearance and  the  two  faces  are  both  rarely  beautiful. 

There  are  still  critics  w'ho  doubt  whether  the  Concert 


CONCERT 


Salon  Carre 


247 


is  a genuine  work  by  Giorgione,  but  Morelli,  Berenson, 
and  several  other  authorities  declare  unreservedly  that 
it  is  not  only  by  the  man  of  Castelfranco  but  that  it  is 
one  of  his  most  beautiful  works.  It  has  undoubtedly  been 
much  repainted  and  has  suffered  greatly  in  consequence. 
But  the  glow'  of  the  poetic  landscape,  the  splendour  of 
the  figures  of  the  two  nude  women,  the  magnificent 
lines  of  the  composition,  the  idyllic  character  of  the 
whole  scene,  and  above  all  the  feeling  of  musical  pause 
that  pervades  it,  — these  incline  critics  to  credit  it  to 
Giorgione. 

In  the  foreground  on  a sloping  rise  of  meadow  sit 
two  young  men  close  together.  The  one  on  the  left 
dressed  in  a green  tunic  with  red  sleeves,  showing  a bit 
of  white  linen  gathered  about  his  neck,  and  a red  cap 
on  his  luxuriant  curls,  holds  a lute  in  his  arms.  He  has 
just  struck  or  is  about  to  strike  a chord,  as  is  indicated 
by  the  position  of  his  right  hand.  Meanwhile  he  has 
turned  to  speak  with  his  companion,  a bushy-haired  youth, 
and  the  movement  has  thrown  the  two  faces  into  a deep 
shadow  that  breaks  into  light  only  on  the  white  about 
their  necks  and  on  the  hand  poised  above  the  strings. 
The  enveloping  tone  over  these  two  makes  all  the  more 
effective  the  golden  light  that  plays  about  the  woman 
sitting  back  to,  in  front  of  them.  She  holds  a flute  in  her 
hand  which  she  evidently  waits  to  sound  till  the  men  have 
finished  their  conversation.  The  lines  of  this  sensuous 
figure  have  a curve,  a rhythm  and  a wonderful  sweep  that 
balance  with  the  lines  of  the  composition  in  a way  pecul- 
iarly Giorgionesque.  More  lovely  still  is  the  second 
woman  who  stands  at  the  left  resting  her  left  hand  on 
the  edge  of  a stone  fountain  while,  with  only  a slight 
twist  of  the  torso,  she  reaches  her  right  arm  across  to 
fill  a pitcher  with  the  water.  Her  head  is  in  profile 


248 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvce 


and  soft  shadows  slumber  about  her  eyes  and  under  her 
chin,  and  are  augmented  by  the  shadow  of  the  arm  over 
the  chest  and  thigh.  A piece  of  drapery  falls  from  her 
left  hip  over  the  leg  and  around  the  other  leg  from  the 
knee  down.  The  lines  of  the  folds  are  themselves  part 
of  the  untranslatable,  but  exquisitely  joyous,  poetic 
charm  of  the  v»fhole  canvas.  At  the  right,  lower  down, 
coming  from  the  deep  shadow  of  thick  trees,  a shepherd 
leads  his  flock.  The  distance  gives  a stretch  of  plain,  a 
castle,  a bending  tree,  a light-broken  sky. 

Of  all  the  many  Entombments  of  the  Italian  painters 
of  the  Renaissance,  none  equals  the  one  by  Titian  hanging 
in  this  Salon  Carre,  in  depth  and  intensity  of  expression, 
in  grandeur  of  line,  in  the  superbness  of  its  massing  and 
wonder  of  its  chiaroscuro.  Its  colour  has  unfortunately 
darkened  and  faded  but  it  is  still  impressive  even  in  its 
present  state.  It  must  have  been  a marvel  for  even 
Titian’s  brush  when  it  left  his  studio. 

Occupying  the  very  centre  of  the  picture  is  the  dead 
body  of  Christ,  borne  in  the  arms  of  Nicodemus  and 
Joseph  of  Arimathea.  Assisting  them,  placed  between, 
but  on  the  other  side  of  his  master,  is  John  the  disciple, 
and  at  the  left  stands  the  mother,  supported  by  IMary 
Magdalene.  At  the  right  is  the  open  sepulchre  and  be- 
hind a mass  of  dense,  shadowed  woods  and  a frowning 
sky  broken  by  lurid  streaks  of  light.  Such  is  the  general 
scheme  of  composition.  Not  largely  different  from  the 
conventionally  prescribed  plan  of  treatment  of  the  subject, 
but  so  vivified,  so  realized  by  the  mind  of  the  genius  that 
executed  it,  that  the  very  theme  itself  seems  never  to 
have  been  expressed  in  paint  before. 

The  light  is  so  arranged  that  it  falls  on  the  lower  part 
of  the  body  of  Jesus,  and  on  his  arms,  leaving  his  face 
and  torso  in  deep  shade.  Nicodemus,  as  he  stands 


ENTOMIiMENT 


Salon  Carre 


249 


back  to  lifting  the  shoulders  of  the  Saviour,  is  in  light, 
his  head  and  neck,  however,  enveloped  in  the  shadow 
that  covers  his  burden.  John’s  face,  raised  and  gazing 
at  Mary  is  thrown  into  relief,  the  shadow  sweeping  over 
him  from  his  neck  down.  A half-light  breaks  over 
Joseph’s  head,  which  is  in  profile,  and  grows  stronger  on 
his  bent  right  arm  as  he  lifts  the  helpless  limbs  of  the 
inert  form.  Again,  the  light  intensifies  over  the  figures 
of  the  two  women  standing  beside  and  slightly  behind 
him.  It  is  to  this  distribution  and  massing  of  light  that 
much  of  the  wonderful  impressiveness  of  the  picture  is 
due.  Nothing,  for  instance,  could  equal  the  effect  pro- 
duced by  the  deep  shadow  that  shrouds  the  head  and 
torso  of  Christ.  Beneath  the  gloom  imagination  can 
read  its  own  story,  see  the  features  it  has  dreamed  of, 
feel  the  power  and  beauty  of  the  dead  face  as  no  brush 
could  portray  it.  If  the  face  is  left  thus  indeterminate, 
the  arms  are  treated  far  differently.  With  them  Titian 
ventured  fully  to  express  his  own  thought.  On  those 
beautiful,  helpless,  inert  hands  and  arms  he  focused  the 
whole  force  of  the  light.  On  their  contour  and  line,  on 
their  rounded  form  he  lavished  all  the  knowledge,  all 
the  power,  all  the  poetry  that  lay  within  the  heart  of  his 
amazing  genius.  In  those  maimed,  dead  arms  all  the 
history,  the  whole  life  of  the  Crucified  One  can  be  felt. 

Not  less  wonderful  in  their  own  way  are  the  loving 
bearers  and  the  women.  The  subordination  of  Nicodemus 
and  Joseph,  in  spite  of  their  necessary  prominence  in  the 
part  they  take,  to  the  beloved  disciple  and  to  the  mother 
of  their  Lord,  is  another  evidence  of  Titian’s  unerring 
sense  of  the  dramatic  unities.  It  was  his  sense  too, 
of  the  eternal  verities,  that  made  him  treat  John’s  face 
as  he  did.  Thrown  into  the  light,  and  immediately  over 
the  dead  Redeemer,  it  might  easily  have  become  the 


250 


tibe  Hrt  of  tbe  3Lou\>re 


secondary  point  of  interest  in  the  picture.  Had  he  not 
been  looking  directly  at  Mary  instead  of  at  Jesus,  one’s 
gaze  would  have  lingered  on  his  sensitive,  poetic  face, 
till  the  part  Mary  bears  in  the  tragedy  would  have  half 
lost  its  meaning.  As  it  is  ones  eye  at  once  follows  his 
anguished  regard,  and  rests  immediately  upon  the 
stricken  mother  in  the  Magdalene’s  care.  It  is  a mar- 
vellous stroke  that  thus  connects  and  solidifies  the  compo- 
sition, making  it  not  only  so  technically  perfect,  but  so 
transcendent  in  its  soul  qualities. 

Of  a very  different  order  is  the  Alfonso  of  Ferrara 
and  Laura  Dianti.  This  is  supposed  to  be  an  actual  por- 
trait group  of  these  two  people,  though  in  past  times  it 
has  been  given  other  names.  Laura  Dianti  was  a peasant 
girl  who  was  first  mistress  and  then  ^^dfe  of  the  Duke  of 
Ferrara,  and  the  man  whose  head  is  seen  dimly  in  the 
shadow  bears  a strong  resemblance  to  other  pictures  of 
Alfonso  by  Titian.  Behind  a stone  table,  of  which  only 
an  edge  appears,  the  young  woman  is  standing,  her  body 
in  front  view,  her  face  turned  to  the  left,  gazing  into 
a looking-glass  held  up  by  a dark-bearded  man  standing 
behind  her.  In  his  other  hand  is  a round  mirror  which 
he  holds  back  of  her  head.  Her  left  hand  rests  on  a glass 
on  the  table,  her  right  lifts  a long  tress  of  the  curly  golden 
hair  that  has  fallen  over  her  shoulder.  She  has  a very 
low-cut  chemisette  with  big,  loose,  wide  hanging  sleeves 
coming  from  under  the  arm-straps  of  her  dark  peasant 
bodice  that  fits  close  over  her  full  green  velvet  skirt.  Her 
large,  brilliant  eyes,  straight  nose,  curved  red  lips,  softly 
moulded  chin  and  rippling  golden  hair  are  all  distinctly 
Titanesque.  It  is  so  purely  the  type  of  woman  he  so 
often  portrayed  that  its  absolrite  fidelity  as  a likeness  may 
be  questioned.  Those  wide,  languorous  shoulders  with 
the  bones  so  thoroughly  bedded  under  the  soft  flesh,  the 


Salon  Carre 


251 


rather  short  neck,  the  round  but  not  small  arm,  — Titian 
of  Cadore  has  painted  these  over  and  over.  It  is  his 
feminine  ideal  as  distinctly  as  the  Gioconda  is  Leonardo’s. 
And  if  one  judges  that  the  type  lacks  something  in  mental 
equipment,  it  lacks  nothing  in  the  physical,  however  dif- 
ferent may  be  ones  opinion  as  to  what  constitutes  a beau- 
tiful woman.  The  adorable  curve  of  those  shoulders, 
the  colour  of  those  Cupid-bow  lips,  the  melting  brilliancy 
of  those  large  eyes,  the  intense  femininity  of  that  low, 
broad  brow,  the  entrancing  lights  and  undulations  of  that 
golden  hair,  — it  is  woman,  woman  incarnate. 

As  painting  it  is  masterly.  In  spite  of  darkening  due 
to  time  there  is  still  enough  of  the  original  tone  left 
to  show  what  it  must  have  been  originally.  The  scheme 
of  chiaroscuro  is  particularly  effective,  with  the  hair 
and  hand  so  cleverly  arranged  to  break  up  the  expanse 
of  light  on  the  chest,  and  thus  throw  the  face  into  stronger 
prominence.  For  its  own  sake,  too,  this  shadow  that 
balances  that  on  her  left  cheek,  chin  and  neck,  is  a charm- 
ing thought.  Titian  revelled  in  painting  soft  white  linen 
closely  gathered  over  full  soft  shoulders,  emphasizing 
the  delicate  contrasts  of  flesh  and  linen  as  only  he  could 
do  it,  and  here  he  has  displayed  his  power  to  its  utmost. 

If  the  Alfonso  and  Laura  is  very  unlike  the  great  En- 
tombment, as  unlike  in  treatment  as  it  is  in  subject,  very 
different  from  either  is  The  Man  with  the  Glove.  This 
is  a half-length  portrait  of  a young  man  standing  with 
shoulders  square  across,  his  head  turned  a little  to  the 
right,  his  eyes  looking  still  farther  in  that  direction.  His 
left  arm  rests  on  a block  of  stone,  the  gloved  hand  falling 
loosely  and  holding  his  other  glove,  while  with  his  right 
he  grasps  his  belt  in  front.  Nothing  could  be  simpler. 
Bareheaded,  dressed  in  black,  with  the  coat  open  from 
the  neck  in  a narrow  triangle  to  the  waist  and  showing 


252 


XTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


a white  gathered  shirt,  crossed  by  a coral  chain,  with 
ruffled  white  lace  at  the  wrists,  the  portrait  is  painted 
without  accessories,  with  nothing  to  detract  from  the 
w:onder  of  that  quiet  face  and  hands. 

There  is  none  of  the  subtlety,  none  of  the  enigma, 
none  of  the  seductiveness  here  that  is  felt  so  strongly 
in  Mona  Lisa.  Neither  is  there  any  intense  psychologic 
moment  suggested,  such  as  one  is  so  often  conscious 
of  in  a great  Lotto  portrait.  It  is  merely  a representation 
of  a youth,  scarcely  out  of  boyhood,  with  the  soft,  early 
down  on  his  upper  lip,  his  large  eyes  calmly  regardful, 
his  whole  expression  one  of  quiet  contemplation.  What 
it  is  that  makes  it  such  a marvel  of  portraiture  is  hard 
to  define,  though  the  most  uncritical  observer  has  felt 
its  power.  It  is  more  than  its  draughtsmanship,  though 
Michelangelo  never  showed  firmer  construction ; it  is 
something  besides  colour,  though  its  sombre  harmony 
of  rich  and  mellow  tones  has  a depth  and  solidity  great 
for  even  Titian  to  achieve ; it  is  not  alone  its  admirable 
composition,  though  the  balance  of  the  hands  and  the 
placing  in  the  canvas  so  that  one  scarcely  realizes  that  one 
has  not  seen  the  entire  figure,  mark  it  with  a distinction 
worthy  of  Raphael ; it  is  not  even  its  arrangement  of 
light  and  shade,  though  Leonardo  could  not  have  handled 
the  chiaroscuro  more  effectively ; neither  is  it  the  assur- 
ance it  gives  that  it  must  have  been  a speaking  likeness, 
— though  in  that  last  popular  phrase  there  is  a hint  of 
the  truth.  There  is  more  than  all  these.  Somehow,  in 
those  limpid,  sober,  questioning  eyes  Titian  has  shown 
the  spirit  that  looked  out  from  their  depths ; shown  it 
with  a truer,  juster  insight  than  this  most  objective  of 
painters  often  succeeded  in  doing.  In  the  smooth  oval  of 
the  cheek,  in  the  wide,  firm  brow,  in  the  steady  lips 
that  could  so  easily  be  tremulous,  in  that  sinuous,  nervous, 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  GLOVE 

By  Titian 


Salon  Carre 


253 


beautiful  hand  so  bent  that  three  fingers  are  not  seen 
at  all,  above  all,  perhaps,  in  that  hand,  he  has  portrayed  a 
real  personality,  -with  a vigour,  a life  and  a depth  of  truth 
that  few  painters  have  equalled,  perhaps  none  surpassed. 

One  of  the  greatest  portraits  that  Raphael  ever  painted 
hangs  in  the  Salon  Carre.  This  is  Baldassare  Casti- 
glione,  and  as  a portrait  is  ranked  next  to  his  mighty  Leo 
now  at  the  Pitti.  It  is  a half-length  figure,  turned  three- 
quarters  to  the  left,  his  face  and  eyes  somewhat  more  to 
the  right.  He  wears  a broad  black  hat  and  his  cloak  is 
a combination  of  black  and  gray,  opening  to  show  a white 
ruffled  shirt.  Only  a bit  of  the  clasped  hands  is  dis- 
played. The  background  is  gray  and  the  effect  of  the 
whole  picture  is  a symphony  of  gray  tones  where  the 
highest  lights  are  on  the  face  and  shirt  and  the  darkest 
darks  on  the  hat  and  cloak.  There  is  no  touch  here  that 
is  not  Raphael’s  own,  and  the  result  is  a masterly  char- 
acterization in  which  every  detail  but  adds  to  the  per- 
fection of  the  whole.  The  face  is  modelled  with  a large, 
free  touch,  the  tones  having  a sort  of  opalescent  feeling 
about  them,  as  if  the  flesh  caught  some  of  the  reflections 
of  the  gray  background  and  full,  gray,  shimmering 
sleeves.  It  is  an  active,  open  countenance,  the  large, 
observing  eyes  both  gentle  and  keen,  the  lips  close  and 
firmly  curved,  the  nose  not  too  fine,  but  far  from  coarse. 

The  picture  was  first  on  wood  and  has  since  been  trans- 
ferred to  canvas.  In  the  seventeenth  century  it  was  in 
a Dutchman’s  collection,  afterward  it  was  in  Madrid, 
where  probably  Rubens  copied  it.  Rembrandt  had  earlier 
made  a water-colour  sketch  of  it.  Cardinal  Mazarin 
finally  bought  it  and  his  heir  sold  it  to  Louis  XIV.  It  is 
in  fair  condition  but  has  become  probably  grayer  than 
it  was  originally. 

Raphael’s  Madonna  called  La  Belle  Jardiniere,  which  is 


254 


Ube  art  of  tbe  Xouvre 


in  this  room;,  he  is  supposed  to  have  painted  toward  the 
last  of  his  stay  in  Florence.  It  is  therefore  an  example 
of  the  time  when  he  had  begun  to  abandon  his  Perugi- 
nesque  traditions  and  had  already  been  influenced  by  Fra 
Bartolommeo  and  Leonardo.  Next  to  the  Sistine  and  the 
Gran  Duca  Madonna  and  the  Madonna  of  the  Chair, 
this  is  probably  his  most  popular  as  well  as  really  most 
beautiful  Madonna.  It  is  supposed  to  be  entirely  his  own 
work  with  the  exception  of  a little  of  the  blue  drapery 
which,  Vasari  states,  Ridolfo  Ghirlandajo  completed  for 
him. 

The  shape  of  the  panel  is  oblong  with  a circular  top. 
In  the  centre  of  a placid  landscape  where  a horizon  line 
of  mountains  rises  from  a lake,  with  a village  massing 
against  the  hills,  sits  the  Madonna  in  a flower-bespattered 
field,  resting  apparently  on  a rock.  She  has  been  reading, 
but  the  book  has  dropped  into  her  lap  and  she  leans  over 
the  little  Jesus  who  stands  by  her.  One  of  his  tiny 
hands  he  has  put  on  her  knee,  pointing  with  the  other 
to  the  small  Baptist  who  is  kneeling  at  the  right,  his 
tall,  cross-tipped  reed  over  his  right  shoulder,  his  eyes 
fixed  longingly  on  the  smiling  Jesus.  Mary  is  dressed 
in  a low-cut,  red  gown  edged  with  black  velvet  ribbon, 
the  sleeveless  bodice  drawn  over  undersleeves  of  yellow. 
About  her  right  shoulder  and  coming  around  behind  her 
is  a gauzy  head-dress,  whose  ends  float  down  over  her 
bare  neck.  She  is  a typical  Raphael  type,  blonde,  of  rather 
full  figure,  with  a sweet  contemplative  expression  that,  if 
it  lacks  the  grandeur  of  the  Sistine  or  even  the  depth  of 
tenderness  of  the  Gran  Duca  or  the  Madonna  of  the  Chair, 
is  equally  far  from  the  wooden  insipidity  that  unfor- 
tunately characterizes  many  of  Raphael’s  earlier  ^ladon- 
nas.  The  little  leaning  figure  of  Jesus  is  exquisitely  pure 
in  modelling  and  contour,  and  his  lifted  face  with  its 


LA  BELLE  JARDINIERE 
By  Raphael 


Salon  Carre 


255 


laughing  lips,  its  eager,  baby  eyes,  has  rarely  been  ex- 
celled by  any  painter  of  the  Renaissance. 

As  has  been  often  said,  it  is  as  a composition,  how- 
ever, that  this  picture  is  greatest.  The  way  the  group 
fills  the  landscape,  the  splendid  spacing,  the  balance  of 
lines,  the  total  absence  of  both  crowding  and  of  empty 
holes,  all  show  Raphael’s  genius.  It  is  seldom  that  a 
group  placed  in  the  foreground  of  a wide  landscape  is  so 
marvellously  handled  in  its  relation  to  the  landscape. 

The  large  St.  Michael,  also  in  this  room  and  catalogued 
as  a Raphael,  is  almost  wholly  Giulio  Romano’s  work. 
The  angel  stands  poised  on  the  devil’s  prostrate  shoul- 
der, arms,  draperies,  hair,  wings,  leg,  all  out  in  air  as  if 
he  had  swooped  through  space  straight  on  to  his  victim. 
It  is  supposed  to  have  been  painted  for  Leo  X.,  who 
presented  it  to  Frangois  I. 

The  only  two  paintings  by  Correggio  owned  by  the 
Louvre  hang  in  this  Salon  CarrL  Both  are  gems,  and 
if  one  never  saw  another  work  of  the  man  of  Modena, 
they  would  be  sufficient  to  give  a just  idea  of  this  ex- 
quisite colourist,  he  who  had  too,  a charm,  a persuasion, 
a mystery  and  a mastery  of  chiaroscuro  possessed  by 
none  other  unless  by  Rembrandt. 

In  everything  that  Correggio  did  is  shown  an  abandon 
of  joy  that  permeates  the  observer  like  the  smile  of  an 
archangel.  He  peopled  his  paintings  with  seraphs,  cheru- 
bim and  heavenly  hosts,  or  with  Cupids,  gods  and  god- 
desses, surcharging  them  all  with  a “ light  that  never  was 
on  sea  or  land,”  drenching  them  in  a colour  that  is  a 
very  perfume  of  ecstasy.  That  is  Correggio.  And  with 
it  all  he  was  a master  of  realism,  painting  with  a very 
passion  of  truth  that  sometimes  led  him  into  an  ugliness 
of  foreshortened  line  that  only  his  all-pervading,  un- 
drownable  charm  of  colour  and  light  makes  excusable. 


256 


Zbc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xout)re 


It  is  Ludwig  Tieck  who  says  “ Let  no  one  say  he  has 
seen  Italy,  let  no  one  think  he  has  learnt  the  lofty  secrets 
of  art,  till  he  has  seen  thee  and  thy  cathedral,  O ! Parma ! ” 
There  is  where  Correggio  is  in  all  his  glory,  and  indeed 
it  is  undoubtedly  true  that  there  alone  can  he  be  seen 
in  his  full  expression.  Yet,  the  charm,  the  joy  in  glowing, 
sunlit  flesh,  the  sweet  secrets  of  the  mystery  of  soft 
rich  shadows,  the  abandonment  to  the  allurement  of  the 
spiritually  sensuous  can  be  felt  in  many  of  Correggio’s 
panel  pieces.  Not  far  below  his  highest  level  is  the 
Jupiter  and  Antiope  in  the  Salon  Carre,  which  indeed  is 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  pictures  in  the  world.  “ Per- 
haps ” says  M.  Alexandre  “ the  most  perfect  bit  of  paint- 
ing that  exists.” 

Lying  against  a bank  under  a group  of  shaded  trees, 
is  Antiope,  and  at  her  side  facing  her,  the  winged  Cupid, 
his  head  on  his  arms,  he  as  well  as  the  nymph  apparently 
fast  asleep.  Within  the  shadow  of  the  trees  is  Jupiter 
in  the  guise  of  satyr.  He  is  leaning  over  the  sleeping 
girl  and  has  just  lifted  the  blue  drapery  which  had 
covered  her  body.  The  whole  of  her  beautiful  nude  figure 
is  thus  completely  exposed.  As  she  lies  her  knees  are 
slightly  drawn  up,  her  left  arm  extended  with  loosely 
dropped  hand,  her  right  thrown  over  her  head  which  is 
bent  far  back,  bringing  her  chin  up  into  a sharply  fore- 
shortened position.  The  figure  is  uncomfortably  placed, 
and  the  position  of  the  neck,  the  thighs  and  the  legs, 
and  even  the  head,  is  distinctly  awkward.  As  has  been 
noted  it  is  characteristic  of  the  painter  of  Parma  fre- 
quently to  show  this  disregard  of  the  beauty  of  line.  No 
one  is  greater  than  he  as  a draughtsman,  but  he  is  so 
absorbed  in  his  wonderful  effects  of  chiaroscuro,  he  so 
revels  in  depicting  his  sun-kissed  flesh  that,  though  never 
drawing  falsely,  the  necessity  for  beauty  of  line  as  well 


JUPITER  AND  ANTIOPE 

By  Correggio 


Salon  Carre  257 

as  of  colour,  light  and  shade,  seems  not  always  to  impress 
him. 

It  is  safe  to  assert  that  amidst  all  the  treasures  that 
line  the  wall  of  the  Salon  Carre  not  one  is  more  com- 
pelling, more  striking  than  this.  As  one  enters  the  room 
it  is  as  if  the  whole  light  of  the  apartment  drew  together 
and  threw  all  its  brilliancy,  all  its  clarity  and  transparence 
upon  this  one  canvas.  Such  is  the  effect  of  the  glowing 
palpitating  form  of  the  sleeping  nymph.  No  perceptible 
brush-work  mars  what  has  never  been  surpassed  as  a 
painting  of  living,  breathing,  pulsing  flesh,  suffused  with 
a golden  light  beyond  an  alchemist’s  dream.  Scarcely 
less  entrancing  is  the  rosy  Cupid,  curled  up  in  complacent 
slumber  over  the  results  of  his  labour.  For  it  is  he  who 
has  brought  Jupiter  there.  All  this  glorious  brilliance 
of  whitest  flesh  is  in  sharp  contrast  to  the  dark  tones  of 
the  satyr,  his  natural  colour  intensified  by  the  shadow 
of  the  trees.  Still  it  is  a royal  head  on  the  misshapen 
body,  and  its  ambrosial  curls  and  Greek  purity  of  profile 
bespeak  the  royal  lover. 

Correggio  is  supposed  to  have  painted  the  Mystic 
Marriage  of  St.  Catherine  of  Alexandria,  which  hangs 
on  the  same  side  of  the  room  as  the  Antiope,  in  1522, 
and  Vasari  states  it  was  done  on  the  occasion  of  the 
marriage  of  the  painter’s  sister  Catherine. 

Seated  at  the  left,  a three-quarter-length  figure,  is  the 
Virgin,  holding  on  her  lap  the  child  Jesus.  Both  are  in 
profile,  facing  the  right.  Opposite  them  is  St.  Catherine 
whose  right  hand  rests  in  the  Virgin’s  left,  her  betrothal- 
finger  being  at  the  same  time  grasped  by  the  baby  Christ. 
Behind  St.  Catherine  St.  Sebastian  is  seen  leaning  over 
her,  smiling,  the  arrow  of  his  martyrdom  pressed  against 
his  chest.  In  the  charming  landscape  background  are 
two  scenes  from  the  martyrdom  of  the  two  saints,  a 


Zbc  Hct  of  tbe  Xouvre 


258 

conventional  rendering  that,  by  their  perspective  and 
low  tones  Correggio  keeps  very  unobtrusively  back  from 
the  principal  group  in  the  foreground.  The  Madonna  is 
dressed  in  the  typical  red  and  blue,  St.  Catherine  in  a 
soft,  rich  brocade. 

The  colour  in  this  picture  is  a dream  of  golden,  light- 
illumined  flesh,  entrancingly  heightened  by  the  soft, 
luminous  shadows  that  play  over  cheek  and  neck,  and 
sweep  down  about  the  draperies  and  out  over  the  distant 
trees.  Not  less  exquisite  are  the  forms  themselves.  The 
Madonna,  whose  face  is  as  pure  as  it  is  femininely  charm- 
ing; the  baby,  whose  rounded,  perfect  little  body  is  in 
exact  keeping  with  the  curly  hair  and  baby  face  with  its 
surprised  sort  of  childish  regard ; St.  Catherine,  whose 
beautiful  hand  matches  the  high-bred,  gentle  lines  of 
her  earnest,  lovely  countenance ; St.  Sebastian,  whose 
Cupid-like  head  and  waving  locks  make  his  arrow  seem, 
as  Gautier  observes,  more  the  sign  of  the  god  of  love  than 
of  his  own  martyrdom ; — in  each  and  all  is  that  glorious, 
pulsing  charm  of  sun-swept  flesh,  of  perfect  modelling, 
of  beauty  of  form  and  line  and  contour  that  is  so  pe- 
culiarly Correggio’s  own. 

The  marvellous  joining  of  the  three  hands  in  the 
centre  of  the  composition  has  often  been  extolled.  It  is 
doubtful  if  ever  a group  of  hands  was  more  perfectly, 
more  picturesquely  rendered,  and  nowhere  in  all  the 
history  of  art,  surely,  are  any  more  beautiful  ones  seen. 
The  supple  form,  the  white  softness,  the  aristocratic  lines 
of  Catherine’s  delicate  hand  are  counterbalanced  and 
complemented  by  the  dimpled  baby  curves  of  the  little 
hand  over  it. 

Tintoretto’s  Susannah  at  the  Bath,  is  only  a " morceau  ” 
by  the  great  Venetian,  but  it  shows  his  skill  in  portraying 
the  nude.  -The  figure  of  Susannah,  in  its  fulness  of  curve 


Salon  Carre 


259 


and  richness  of  tint,  is  a forerunner  of  the  women  of 
Rubens.  It  represents  the  girl  sitting  at  the  left  before 
a cluster  of  bushes,  turned  three-quarters  to  the  right. 
One  serving-woman  stands  combing  her  hair,  and  another 
is  kneeling  and  dressing  her  feet.  At  the  right  is  a pool 
of  water  where  birds  and  reptiles  bathe,  and  in  the  dis- 
tance behind  is  a table,  introduced  with  total  disregard 
of  the  possibilities  of  the  place,  at  which  the  two  old  men 
are  sitting  and  staring. 

Unlike  Tintoretto,  Veronese  is  splendidly  represented 
at  the  Louvre,  and  in  the  Salon  Carre  are  several  of 
his  most  noted  pictures.  The  immense  canvas  of  the 
Marriage  Feast  at  Cana,  was  one  of  Napoleon’s  war 
trophies.  When,  in  1815  most  of  his  artistic  spoils  were 
returned  to  their  previous  owners,  the  officers  of  the 
Louvre  persuaded  the  Austrians  that  to  move  once  more 
this  vast  expanse  of  canvas  would  probably  ruin  it  for 
ever.  In  recompense  they  took  Le  Brun’s  Descent  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  now  in  the  academy  at  Venice.  It  was  an 
exchange  at  which  the  gods  of  art  must  have  smiled  in 
derision  or  glee,  as  they  favoured  the  French  or  Italian 
powers. 

The  scene  takes  place  in  a balcony  or  gallery  open  to 
the  sky,  with  clusters  of  marble  pillars  on  each  side  indi- 
cating the  palace  of  which  it  is  a part.  From  right  to  left 
across  the  centre  of  the  composition  runs  a marble  balus- 
trade, which  separates  a higher  balcony  from  the  one  in 
front.  The  table  forms  three  sides  of  a parallelogram 
and  is  placed  so  that  it  borders  the  three  sides  of  the  gal- 
lery, leaving  an  open  square  in  the  centre  of  the  com- 
position. With  his  head  coming  against  the  balustrade, 
Jesus  sits  facing  the  spectator,  occupying  the  central  seat 
at  the  table.  At  his  right  is  Mary,  and  about  him  are  the 
disciples.  This  little  company,  however,  is  almost  over- 


260 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouipre 


looked  in  the  crowd  of  people  who  fill  all  sides  of  the 
table  as  well  as  the  open  space  in  front,  not  to  mention  the 
many  servants  and  attendants  who  throng  the  upper  bal- 
cony, looking  down  upon  the  scene  below.  The  assem- 
blage are  all  in  the  costumes  of  Veronese’s  time,  and,  as 
usual  with  this  painter,  the  title  of  the  picture  has  practi- 
cally nothing  to  do  with  it.  The  comparative  unimpor- 
tance of  Jesus  is  not  even  lessened  by  any  emphasis  laid 
upon  the  miracle  he  is  supposed  to  be  enacting.  At  the 
right  corner  of  the  table  a servant  pours  wine  from  one 
jug  to  another  and  a man  sitting  back  to  is  watching  him 
with  some  interest,  while  another  looks  attentively  at  a 
filled  wine-glass  which  he  holds  in  his  hand.  Otherwise 
the  entire  company  are  engaged  in  talking  among  them- 
selves, listening  to  the  music  or  speaking  to  the  servitors. 
It  is  necessary  therefore  to  eliminate  all  consideration  of 
the  picture  as  a religious  painting  to  appreciate  it  at 
its  true  value. 

As  a magnificent  decoration,  as  a most  splendid  repre- 
sentation of  a splendid  feast  in  royally  splendid  surround- 
ings, as  a picture  of  Venetian  life  in  the  height  of  her 
glory,  as  an  admirably  massed,  wonderfully  balanced,  in 
every  respect  superbly  composed  picture,  it  takes  its 
proper  rank  as  one  of  the  greatest  paintings  of  the 
Renaissance  or  of  any  time.  The  life,  the  movement,  the 
individuality,  the  enveloping  atmosphere,  the  transparent 
silver  tone  of  its  colour,  the  variety  in  pose,  features  and 
expression  in  these  hundred  life-sized  figures,  the  gor- 
geousness of  the  stuffs,  the  skill  displayed  in  indicating 
textures,  the  nobility  of  the  architectural  surroundings,  — 
these  are  the  things  which  help  to  make  the  work  all  the 
more  of  a marvel  when  one  remembers  that  Veronese 
completed  it  in  fifteen  months. 

There  are  many  famous  portraits  among  the  guests. 


MARRIAGE  FEAST  AT  CANA 
By  Veronese 


Salon  Carre 


261 


At  the  left  end  of  the  table  are  Alfonso  d’Avalos,  and  the 
Marquis  du  Guast,  beside  whom  a negro  stands  offering 
wine.  At  the  side  of  the  marquis  a young  woman  behind 
whom  is  a clown,  is  supposed  to  be  Eleanor  of  Austria, 
Queen  of  France.  Next  is  Frangois  himself  and  then 
comes  Mary  of  England  in  a yellow  robe,  and  next  but 
one,  picking  her  teeth,  is  Vittoria  Colonna.  Farther 
back  is  seen  the  Emperor  of  the  Turks,  Solyman  L 
Veronese  is  the  musician  playing  on  a viol  and  dressed  in 
white.  Behind  him  Tintoretto  accompanies,  Titian  plays 
on  a bass  viol  and  Bassano  on  a flute.  The  picture  is 
thirty  feet  long  by  twenty  high  and  was  painted  originally 
for  the  refectory  of  San  Giorgio  Maggiore. 

Veronese’s  Holy  Family  in  this  room  shows  the  Ma- 
donna seated  on  a low  throne  in  front  of  a hanging  cur- 
tain of  rich  golden  brocade.  She  supports  with  both 
hands  the  nude  baby  Christ  who  stands  on  her  lap,  leaning 
to  the  right  toward  St.  Benedict  who  kneels  at  the  side  of 
the  throne.  St.  Catherine  of  Alexandria  stands  behind 
presenting  him  to  the  Mother  and  Child.  At  the  left  St. 
George,  in  full  armour,  is  hastening  towjard  the  throne, 
one  foot  already  on  its  base.  The  colour  of  the  rich  dra- 
peries, the  folds  of  the  silks  and  satins  are  so  masterly 
here  that  the  eye  lingers  over  them  perhaps  too  long  to 
do  full  justice  to  the  splendid  modelling  of  face  and 
figure,  to  the  grace  of  Catherine,  the  winsome  charm  of 
the  Madonna  or  the  sturdy  earnestness  of  St.  Benedict. 

The  Repast  at  the  House  of  Simon  is  another  enor- 
mous canvas  by  Veronese  and  faces  the  great  Marriage 
of  Cana.  It  is  less  beautiful  than  that  but  has  many  of 
the  striking  characteristics  of  Veronese  at  his  best. 

Barocci,  a man  of  indubitable  talent,  of  immense  fa- 
cility, and  of  real  enthusiasm,  has  a Virgin  in  Glory  in  the 
Salon  Carre  that,  though  not  so  exquisite  a canvas  as  his 


262 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


Annunciation  in  Rome,  sufficiently  shows  his  love  of 
rosy  flesh,  of  curving  contour,  and  of  the  forced  lighting 
and  profound  shadows  he  employed  so  assiduously  in 
his  attempt  to  make  of  himself  another  Correggio.  The 
Virgin  is  seated  on  clouds,  holding  on  her  lap  the  baby 
Jesus  who  is  extending  a palm  to  St.  Lucy  kneeling  below 
at  the  right.  Over  the  Virgin  two  angels  bear  a crown 
which  they  are  about  to  place  on  her  head,  and  above  this 
is  the  Holy  Spirit  in  the  form  of  a dove.  Behind  St. 
Lucy  stands  another  angel  bearing  on  a plate  the  eyes 
that  the  martyr  gave  up  for  love  of  her  Lord,  and  at 
the  left  St.  Anthony  sits  reading.  In  the  distance  are  the 
walls  of  a city. 

The  Dead  Christ  on  the  Knees  of  the  Virgin  by  Ca- 
racci  is  one  of  his  best  works.  It  has  something  of  the 
deep  feeling  of  the  earlier  masters  and  is  remarkably 
good  in  line  and  chiaroscuro. 

Guido  Reni  has  several  pictures  in  this  golden  room 
of  the  Louvre,  but  they  make  slight  impression  compared 
to  the  great  works  that  are  all  about  them.  Dejanira  and 
the  Centaur  Nessus  is  mannered  and  overdone,  with  what 
M.  Alexandre  calls  “ a cold  romanticism,”  but  it  has  a 
certain  seductive  charm  of  colour  and  real  vigour  of 
action.  Dejanira  is  standing  upon  the  Centaur,  who  is 
trotting  toward  the  left.  In  the  distance  at  the  right 
Hercules  is  seen  shooting  an  arrow  after  them. 

Only  one  painting  by  Rubens  is  given  place  in  the  Salon 
Carre,  but  the  Portrait  of  Helen  Fourment  and  Two  of 
Her  Children  is  quite  enough  to  show  the  consummate 
master  this  Fleming  was.  Rubens  is  never  more  tender, 
more  brilliant,  more  exquisite,  never  does  he  paint  so  con 
amore  as  when  his  brush  portrays  his  young  wife,  Helen. 
In  this  one  he  has  added  two  of  their  children,  Francis 


PORTRAIT  OF  HELEN  FOURMENT  AND  TWO  OF  HER  CHILDREN 

By  Rubens 


Salon  Carre  263 

and  Clara.  The  picture  is  as  full  of  grace  and  freshness 
as  it  is  of  brilliant  purity  of  colour. 

The  young  mother  is  seated  in  a big  chair,  facing  the 
left,  turned  so  that  her  face  and  bust  are  in  three-quarters 
view.  She  is  dressed  in  white,  with  a big  hat  that  droops 
long  plumes  over  her  blond  hair.  On  her  knees  she  holds 
the  little  Francis,  whose  hands  play  with  her  corsage, 
while  he  looks  over  his  shoulder  at  the  spectator.  He  is 
a delightful  morsel  of  mankind  in  his  fine  gray  suit  with 
velvet  cap  and  curling  hair,  big,  wondering  eyes  that  recall 
his  mother’s,  and  curving  baby  lips.  Standing  on  the 
other  side  of  her  mother’s  knees  is  Qara,  her  brown  dress 
partly  covered  by  her  white  apron  which  she  is  lifting  with 
both  hands.  On  the  arm  of  the  chair  are  placed  two 
little  hands  of  a child  not  otherwise  seen.  The  sweep 
of  line  in  this  composition  does  not  lack  the  movement, 
the  life  that  Rubens  always  attained.  But  there  is  a 
placidity,  a comfortableness,  a sort  of  homelike  ease  here 
that  he  does  not  so  often  get.  It  is  a domestic  idyl,  full 
of  clarity  of  colour,  of  charm  of  feeling. 

The  chief  Velasquez  gem  which  the  Louvre  owns  is 
the  Infanta  Margarita  which  is  in  this  room.  It  is  the 
only  one  in  the  museum  that  conveys  any  adequate  impres- 
sion of  the  master’s  genius.  The  picture  is  a half-length 
of  the  four-year-old  baby,  standing  almost  in  full  face, 
her  right  hand  resting  on  a big  chair,  only  partly  within 
the  painting,  her  left  at  her  side  holding  a flower.  She 
is  dressed  in  a grayish  white  gown,  trimmed  with  black 
lace,  a gold  chain  about  her  neck  and  another  falling  over 
her  shoulders.  Her  soft  fair  hair,  brushed  till  it  is  like  a 
blond  veil  about  her  shoulders,  is  tied  over  her  right 
temple  with  a rose-coloured  bow.  This  halo  of  hair  with 
its  delicate  tones  and  reflections  is  one  of  the  great  charms 
of  the  picture  as  it  must  have  been  of  the  baby  princess. 


264 


Zbt  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


Her  complexion  is  of  the  pallor  associated  with  the  royal 
house  of  Spain,  but  it  is  here  like  the  bloom  of  a pearl 
rather  than  the  dead  white  tone  of  the  Philip  IV.  por- 
traits. Her  big  blue  eyes  that  look  out  so  wonderingly 
and  yet  so  calmly,  the  stateliness  of  the  child’s  pose  make 
one  feel  in  that  little  figure  as  Gautier  did,  “ The  conscious 
dignity  of  her  position ; it  is  a little  daughter,  but  it  is 
a daughter  of  the  king  who  will  one  day  be  queen.” 
Over  her  head  in  large  gold  letters  are  the  words  “ L’ln- 
fanta  Marguerit.”  The  canvas  was  painted  after  Velas- 
quez’s second  return  from  Italy  and  follows  the  one  in 
Vienna. 

After  all  these  great  men  comes  Rembrandt,  also  with 
only  a single  canvas  to  show  his  own  greatness.  But,  as 
with  Rubens  it  is  enough.  No  one  save  a master  of 
masters  could  ever  have  painted  the  Portrait  of  Hen- 
drickje  Stoffels.  This  likeness  of  the  faithful  maiden 
servitor  of  the  difficult  latter  years  of  his  life,  is  justly 
regarded  as  not  only  one  of  the  greatest  treasures  of  this 
gallery,  but  as  one  of  the  great  pictures  of  the  world. 
Rembrandt  himself  did  not  often  surpass  it. 

Dressed  in  richest  fur-bordered  cloak  that  falls  away 
from  her  throat  and  shows  the  transparent  muslin 
chemisette  gathered  over  her  breast,  with  her  soft  curly 
hair  falling  in  ringlets  over  her  ears,  with  a green  velvet 
cap,  red-knotted  on  each  side,  big  pearl  earrings  and  a 
pearl  brooch  at  her  bodice,  and  bracelets  on  her  left  arm, 
Hendrick] e is  as  charmingly  gowned  as  she  is  lovable  in 
expression.  Big  dark  eyes  looking  out  tenderly  and 
brightly,  mobile,  curved  lips,  and  delicate  chin,  the  whole 
air  of  this  maid  who  perhaps  did  become  Rembrandt’s 
wife,  is  that  of  trusting  sweetness,  joined  to  a gentle  re- 
pose that  only  emphasizes  the  general  intelligence  of  the 
countenance.  She  is  sitting  nearly  full  face  and  the  light 


PORTRAIT  OF  HENDRICKJE  STOFFELS 

By  Rembrandt  . 


Salon  Carre 


265 


strikes  her  clear  and  brilliantly,  the  softness  of  the  shadow 
under  her  chin  growing  darker  till  it  is  lost  in  the  rich 
deep  tone  of  the  cloak  that  melts  into  the  darker  back- 
ground. 

The  picture  was  probably  painted  about  1652,  at  a 
period  when  Rembrandt’s  flesh-tones  had  taken  on  that 
golden  hue  which  generally  is  regarded  as  most  charac- 
teristic, but  which  during  his  earlier  years  was  preceded 
by  a brilliancy  of  colour  as  vivid  as  Velasquez’s  or 
Van  Dyck’s.  If  this  warm,  molten  tone  is  less  like  living 
flesh,  it  is  none  the  less  marvellously  beautiful.  Here  in 
Hendrickje  it  is  as  if  the  deep  shadows  clustering  behind 
her  had  but  just  vanished  from  across  her  face,  their 
transit  turning  the  fair  flesh  into  a sympathetic  mellow- 
ness. On  every  inch  of  this  canvas  is  felt  a penetrating 
insight,  a submerging  of  technique,  an  absorption  in  pure 
soul-rendering  such  as  even  Rembrandt’s  greatest  works 
do  not  always  show.  It  is  as  if  the  realist  and  the  idealist, 
as  Fromentin  calls  him,  had  here  met  in  an  accord  so 
perfect  that  brush  and  mind  and  spirit  are  joined  in  a 
w’edlock  that  produced  almost  unconsciously  this  exquisite 
portrait. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


LES  PETITES  SALLES  FRANCAISES  — ROOMS  IX..  X.,  XL. 

XII..  XIII.  — ITALIAN  AND  FRENCH  SCHOOLS 

The  Petites  Salles  Frangaises  lead  out  of  the  long 
gallery  from  Bay  D and,  as  their  name  indicates  are  small 
rooms  mostly  containing  French  pictures.  In  Room.  IX., 
however,  are  a number  of  late  Italian  works,  few  of 
which  are  of  any  great  interest.  On  the  plan  the  rooms 
are  numbered  IX.,  X.,  XL,  XII.  and  XIII. 

In  Room  IX.  which  is  nearest  the  Grande  Galerie,  are 
pictures  by  Cantarini,  Giordano,  Maratta,  Giulio  Romano, 
Garofalo  and  Salvator  Rosa.  Of  these  very  few  are 
worthy  special  notice. 

Maratta’s  Portrait  of  Maria  Maddalena  Rospigliosi 
is  one  of  the  very  best  examples  of  this  Roman  painter 
who  was  a member  of  the  school  that  formed  itself  about 
Caravaggio.  It  is  a half-length  portrait  and  shows  the 
princess  standing  in  full  face,  her  right  hand,  which  holds 
a fan,  resting  on  a table  beside  her.  She  is  dressed  in 
black,  with  full  double-puffed  sleeves  of  white,  her  neck 
and  shoulders  bare.  The  careful  workmanship  displayed 
in  the  rendering  of  the  delicate  lace  that  so  elaborately 
trims  her  dress  is  more  than  equalled  technically  by  the 
handling  shown  in  the  face  and  neck.  The  face  itself  is 
far  from  beautiful  but  it  possesses  a dignity  and  poise 
that  make  it  interesting. 


266 


%C3  ipetites  Salles  jfrancaises  267 

Mars  and  Venus  by  Luca  Giordano,  called  Luca  la 
Presto  because  of  his  extraordinary  rapidity  of  execution, 
is  a not  very  good  canvas  by  this  man  who,  had  he  half 
tried  might  have  been  one  of  the  great  modern  masters. 
He  was  possessed  of  tremendous  ability  but  seemed  to 
care  for  nothing  but  to  dash  through  a picture,  getting  a 
certain  daring,  brilliant  effect,  wholly  superficial,  and  thus 
ruining  what  might  have  been  great  beauty,  dramatic 
action  and  rich  colouring.  Charles  11.  invited  him  to 
Spain  and  he  did  a large  number  of  w;orks  in  the  Escorial. 
He  belongs  to  the  Neapolitan  school,  and  died  in  Naples 
in  1705. 

The  picture  represents  Venus  nude,  stretched  out,  half- 
sitting, half-reclining  on  a couch,  looking  over  her  shoul- 
der at  Mars,  who,  in  armour,  is  standing  behind  her 
pointing  out  Vulcan  at  his  forge  in  the  distance.  Two 
women  servants  are  at  the  right  of  Venus,  one  of  whom 
seems  urging  her  to  dress.  In  the  foreground  are  two 
delicious  little  Loves,  one  holding  on  to  a large  dog,  the 
other  fallen  over  asleep,  his  head  on  his  arms. 

Of  the  early  French  pictures  that  fill  the  rest  of  the 
Petites  Salles,  those  by  Vouet,  Clouet  and  Le  Sueur  are 
the  most  important.  It  is  well  to  mention,  however,  the 
name  of  Jean  Cousin,  who  has  been  called  the  founder  of 
the  French  school.  He  lived  during  the  reigns  of  Henri 
IL,  Henri  HI.,  and  Charles  IX.  and  was  the  author  of  a 
book  “ on  the  proportions  of  the  human  body.”  His 
principal  work  is  The  Last  Judgment  in  Salle  IX.  It  is 
much  mixed  up  and  shows  little  real  taste  or  talent 

In  the  same  room  are  two  portraits  by  Frangois 
Clouet,  painter  in  ordinary  to  Frangois  1.  One  is  Charles 
IX.,  represented  standing,  the  other  Elizabeth  of  Austria. 
They  have  a certain  fineness  of  type  and  elegance  of  line, 


268 


^be  Hrt  of  tbe  Xoux>ce 


and  in  the  elaboration  of  costume  show  Clouet’s  “taste 
for  the  picturesque.” 

Salle  XII.  is  given  up  to  the  series  of  pictures  by  Le 
Sueur  illustrating  the  life  of  St.  Bruno.  They  were 
ordered  by  the  monks  of  the  Carthusians  in  1645,  ir* 
memory  of  St.  Bruno  himself  who  wlas  the  founder  of 
their  order.  Le  Sueur  was  helped  in  the  work  by  many 
of  his  pupils  and  also  by  his  brother-in-law  Gousse.  The 
pictures  were  in  place  in  the  little  cloister  in  about  three 
years,  arranged  under  arches  that  were  separated  by 
Doric  pilasters.  Between  each  painting  the  history  of  the 
saint  was  written  in  Latin  verse  by  ]a.Try.  In  1776  they 
were  presented  to  the  king,  and  in  the  year  10  they 
were  open  to  the  public  in  the  Palace  of  Versailles.  The 
following  year  they  were  taken  to  the  Luxembourg,  and 
finally,  in  1848,  after  being  restored,  they  were  put  into 
the  Louvre. 

Le  Sueur  was  contemporary  with  Le  Brun  and  for 
years  there  was  great  rivalry  between  them,  though  so 
far  as  the  public  was  concerned  it  was  only  Le  Brun  who 
received  its  laudations.  It  was  not  till  the  commission 
came  for  the  St.  Bruno  pictures  that  Le  Sueur  received 
any  sort  of  recognition.  He  painted  with  a soft,  earnest 
feeling  that  has  given  him  the  title,  “ faiite  de  mieux”  as 
Mr.  Brownell  says,  of  the  “ French  Raphael.”  All  the 
French  critics  are  inclined  to  grant  Le  Sueur  a far  higher 
place  than  they  accord  Le  Brun.  But  Anglo-Saxons  feel 
his  supremacy  less  keenly.  Brownell  expresses  the 
general  opinion,  perhaps  a trifle  sharply,  when  he  says 
“ He  had  a great  deal  of  very  exquisite  feeling  for  what  is 
refined  and  elevated,  but  clearly  it  is  a moral  rather  than 
an  aesthetic  delicacy  that  he  exhibits,  and  aesthetically  he 
exercises  his  sweeter  and  more  sympathetic  sensibility 
within  the  same  rigid  limits  which  circumscribe  that  of 


%cs  ipetites  Salles  iFrancalses  269 


Le  Brun.  He  has,  indeed,  less  invention,  less  imagination, 
less  sense  of  composition,  less  wealth  of  detail,  less  elabo- 
rateness, no  greater  concentration  or  sense  of  effect ; and 
though  his  colour  is  more  agreeable,  perhaps,  in  hue,  it 
gets  its  tone  through  the  absence  of  variety  rather  than 
through  juxtapositions  and  balances.” 

The  first  of  the  St.  Bruno  series  shows  the  saint  listen- 
ing to  the  sermon  of  Raymond  Diocres.  It  is  the  interior 
of  a church  and  at  the  right  Raymond,  who  was  canon 
of  Notre  Dame,  is  preaching.  At  the  left  the  congre- 
gation are  sitting,  Bruno  standing  among  them.  He  is 
dressed  in  blue  with  a yellow  cloak,  and  holds  a book 
under  his  arm.  At  the  foot  of  the  pulpit  a young  clerk 
records  the  words  of  the  young  preacher.  One  of  the 
most  notable  bits  of  individuality  is  the  kneeling  woman  in 
the  middle  of  the  crowd,  whose  ecstasy  as  she  listens 
is  clearly  and  even  spiritually  indicated.  There  is  real 
absorption  shown  in  her  posture ; her  head  is  turned 
backwards,  and  a most  tender  expression  is  in  her  profile. 
Bruno  also  shows,  says  M.  Charles  Blanc,  in  the  calmness 
of  his  attitude  and  the  serenity  of  his  face,  the  disinter- 
ested and  tolerant  spirit.  The  whole  composition  is  full 
of  individual  characterization  and  breathes  a spirit  of 
earnestness.  The  preacher  has  a vigorous,  intense  per- 
sonality, which  his  gestures  intensify  without  exaggera- 
tion. 

This  same  preacher  is  on  his  death-bed  in  the  next 
picture  of  the  series.  He  is  lying  on  the  bed  at  the  right, 
his  face  turned  to  the  cross  which  is  held  out  to  him 
by  a priest  accompanied  by  two  deacons.  An  old  man 
is  showing  great  fear  as  he  watches  the  coming  of  the 
end.  In  the  foreground  St.  Bruno  is  on  his  knees, 
praying,  and  at  the  left  on  the  floor  are  the  preparations 


270 


XTbe  art  of  tbe  Xouvre 


for  the  funeral.  Above  the  head  of  the  dying  man  is  a 
demon. 

The  third  is  Raymond  Diocres  Rising  from  His  Cofhn 
to  pronounce  his  own  condemnation.  The  officiating 
priests  are  covered  with  fear  and  confusion  and  one  boy- 
in  the  choir  has,  in  his  terror,  dropped  his  book.  St. 
Bruno  is  back  to  Raymond,  his  hands  joined  in  fervour. 
It  was,  according  to  the  traditions  of  the  order,  only 
after  the  death  of  Raymond  that  Bruno’s  conversion  took 
place.  So  that  it  is  with  the  fourth  of  the  series  that  his 
religious  life  really  begins. 

In  this  fourth  he  is  seen  on  his  knees  in  an  ecstas}’ 
before  a cross,  his  head  turned  in  profile  to  the  left.  He  is 
in  a long  robe,  not  yet  that  of  his  order.  Through  a 
window  two  men  are  observed  burying  the  corpse  of  the 
doctor.  The  figure  of  Bruno  has  real  expression  and 
the  whole  picture,  painted  almost  in  monotone,  has  a quiet, 
religious  tone. 

The  fifth,  St.  Bruno  Explaining  the  Faith  to  his  pupils 
in  the  school  at  Reims,  is  not  very  unlike  the  first.  Bruno 
is  in  the  pulpit,  pointing  heavenward.  The  scene  has  a 
certain  delicacy  of  treatment,  a tranquillity  of  chiaroscuro 
and  a colour  admirably  adapted  to  the  subject.  In  all 
his  interiors  of  this  series,  Le  Sueur  uses  the  Doric  order 
of  architecture.  Charles  Blanc  says  it  is  as  if,  in  por- 
traying this  life  of  renunciation,  he  did  not  wish  to  have 
the  efflorescence  of  the  Corinthian  order  to  interfere  with 
the  simplicity  and  quietness  of  his  subject. 

In  the  picture  showing  St.  Bruno  lying  upon  a bed 
with  three  angels  appearing  to  him,  both  the  winged  ap- 
paritions and  the  saint  are  painted  with  great  tenderness 
and  are  imbued  with  an  ecstatic  mystery. 

In  the  Journey  to  Chartreuse  Le  Sueur  has  drawn  the 
horses  bearing  the  saint  and  his  companions  with  much 


%C3  Ipetites  Salles  ifrancalses  271 

f 

ability,  though  possibly  not  quite  so  remarkably  as  Blanc 
affirms. 

So  they  go  on,  with  a certain  far-off  remembrance  of 
Raphael,  but  without  his  dignity  of  figures,  his  mar- 
vellous massing  in  composition,  or,  in  fine,  — his  original- 
ity and  mastery.  One  of  the  best  of  all  is  that  showing 
Pope  Victor  III.  confirming  the  order  of  the  Carthusians. 
It  is  the  interior  of  a temple,  in  which  the  Pope  is  sitting 
on  an  elevated  throne  surrounded  by  his  cardinals,  one 
of  whom,  standing,  is  reading  the  statutes  of  the  new 
order.  Blanc  again  points  out  that  here,  with  good 
knowledge  of  his  subjects,  Le  Sueur  has  not  painted  the 
thin,  self-denying  cadaverous  priests  of  the  rigid  monas- 
tic life.  Instead,  these  princes  of  the  Roman  Church  have 
an  amplitude  and  vigour  of  flesh  and  form,  well  suited 
to  the  world  of  Rome  where  they  ruled. 

In  Bruno  Refusing  the  Archiepiscopal  Mitre  Offered 
by  Pope  Urban  II.  there  are  depth  of  colour  and  good 
chiaroscuro. 

Room  XIII.  has  Le  Sueur’s  mural  pictures  which 
he  executed  for  the  ceilings  of  Hotel  Lambert,  at  the  time 
that  Le  Brun  was  also  working  there.  These  are  myth- 
ologic  subjects  which  have  a certain  sweetness  and  grace 
if  no  very  great  authority.  The  colouring  is  agreeable 
if  far  from  enchanting,  and  the  forms  are  well-drawn 
if  without  great  force.  The  Cabinet  of  the  Muses  was 
w!hat  the  room  was  called  where  he  painted,  and  it  was 
there  that  Voltaire  lived  from  1745  to  1749.  There  are 
less  restraint  and  perhaps  less  timidity  in  these  decorations 
than  in  his  religious  scenes. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


SALLE  MOLLIEN  — ROOM  XIV.  — FRENCH  SCHOOL 

With  the  exception  of  the  few  early  men  of  the  school 
that  are  to  be  found  in  the  Petites  Salles  Frangaises,  the 
Louvre’s  collection  of  French  pictures  commences  with 
Room  XIV.  called  often  Salle  Mollien.  French  painting 
practically  did  not  begin  till  the  seventeenth  century.  And 
for  long  it  was  little  but  an  imitation  of  Italian  art  for 
which  Frangois  I.  is  principally  responsible.  His  admira- 
tion for  everything  Italian,  and  his  bringing  to  Paris  of 
all  the  Italian  artists  whom  he  could  persuade  to  leave 
their  native  land,  set  the  taste  in  France  for  a centur}%  and 
undoubtedly  prevented  an  earlier  flowering  of  French 
art,  per  se. 

Vouet,  who  was  the  teacher  of  Le  Brun,  was  much 
esteemed  in  both  France  and  England  and  was  court 
painter  for  Louis  XIII.  His  style  is  a copy  of  the  Italian, 
and  his  pictures  “ are  rather  dull  in  sentiment,  heavy  in 
painting  and  demonstrative  in  design.”  The  Presentation 
in  the  Temple  which  is  in  this  room,  Waagen  calls 
“ careful  in  execution,  with  ideal  heads  after  the  style  of 
Guido  on  forms  far  more  awkward  and  less  expressive.” 

Mearly  forty  canvases  by  Poussin  hang  in  Salle  IMol- 
lien.  Though  the  Anglo-Saxon  mind  can  rarely  agree 
with  the  extreme  admiration  bestowed  upon  Poussin  by 
his  countrymen,  every  critic  must  acknowledge  his  pre- 

272 


Salle  /iDolllen 


273 


eminence  in  certain  important  respects,  and  give  him  a 
place  quite  by  himself  as  far  away  from  the  strict  academic 
school  of  Le  Brun  as  he  was  from  that  of  Boucher.  He 
was  a classic  of  the  classicists,  though  we  of  to-day  may 
smile  at  some  of  the  anachronisms  of  his  wiorks.  He 
was  a scholar,  a thinker,  an  idealist  of  a rather  bounded 
type.  He  was  not  spontaneous,  his  love  of  order  and  of 
well-managed  and  abundant  line  made  him  too  careful, 
too  studied,  too  cold.  His  gestures  were  seldom  satis- 
factory though  his  forms  were  noble.  He  studied  the 
antique,  not  nature,  for  his  figures,  and  thus  it  is  that 
more  freedom,  more  truth,  more  esprit  appear  in  his  land- 
scapes, which  he  did  take  directly  from  nature,  than  in 
his  figures.  In  them  his  colour  was  often  pleasing,  some- 
times luminous,  sometimes  softly  golden,  his  effects  of 
perspective  generally  excellent,  his  values  true.  If  there 
lacked  the  dream-loveliness  of  a Lorrain,  there  were  in 
them  a solidity,  a dignity  and  a repose  of  their  own. 
In  general  it  can  be  said  without  exaggeration  that  Pous- 
sin’s works  wiere  literary  achievements  of  the  brush.  The 
story,  the  moral,  the  historical  accuracy  (so  far  as  the  time 
knew  it),  the  orderly  and  proper  arrangement  of  cause 
and  effect,  the  value  of  climax,  the  subservience  of  parts 
to  the  whole,  the  importance  of  dramatic  action  are 
the  things  that  were  Poussin’s  first  care.  It  has  been  said 
of  him  that  he  was  afraid  to  let  his  brush  revel  in  colour 
for  fear  the  import  of  his  pictures  might  be  lost.  In 
his  classical  mind  colour  was  on  the  whole  an  unim- 
portant adjunct  of  the  art  of  painting. 

His  works  include  almost  every  kind  of  subject  and  the 
Louvre  possesses  examples  of  his  religious,  historical  and 
mythological  paintings  as  well  as  fables,  bacchanals,  por- 
traits, and  landscapes. 

The  Rape  of  the  Sabines  takes  place  in  a large  square 


274 


Xlbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


at  the  back  of  which  is  a temple,  on  the  right  a number 
of  buildings.  On  a sort  of  platform  at  the  left  Romulus, 
accompanied  by  two  Romans,  is  giving  the  signal  for  the 
attack.  His  left  arm  is  raised  high  waving  his  red  cloak. 
He  is  in  profile,  but  his  fine  torso,  which  is  carefully  and 
accurately  modelled,  is  turned  nearly  three-quarters 
toward  the  spectator.  Below  on  the  ground  at  his  feet 
stand  two  lictors,  their  excited  gestures  and  eagerness  of 
mien  accentuating  the  intensity  of  the  moment.  The 
scene  in  the  square  itself  is  a well-thought  out,  studiously 
arranged  pandemonium.  Partly  because  thus  scholarly 
in  its  construction,  it  lacks  any  real,  pervading,  over- 
powering horror.  The  Roman  soldiers  are  attacking 
women  with  staves,  dragging  them  from  other  soldiers, 
snatching  them  from  their  mothers’  arms,  hauling  them 
to  their  saddles.  Before  Romulus  one  mother  kneels, 
anguished  entreaty  in  her  begging  hands,  terror  in  her 
piercing  eyes.  In  the  foreground  at  the  left  a soldier  is 
striding  off  carrying  a daughter  of  the  Sabines.  Both 
arms  being  thus  more  than  employed  he  can  only  yell 
while  she  pulls  \\dth  all  her  might  at  his  thick  curling 
hair.  In  the  centre  a Sabine  is  fleeing,  robes  streaming 
in  the  wind,  while  the  maiden  following  is  seized  by  a 
Roman  soldier.  At  the  extreme  right  an  old  mother  on 
the  ground  is  trying  to  cover  and  protect  her  daughter 
from  a Roman  who  grabs  the  girl  with  one  hand  and 
pushes  back  the  mother  with  the  other. 

The  Holy  Family  on  the  south  wall  has  one  of  the 
really  lovely  landscapes  that  Poussin  often  painted.  Be- 
hind the  pyramidal  group  of  the  family,  a quiet  river 
twists  its  way  into  a softly  tinted  country  stretching  out 
into  a distance  gradually  lost  among  low  mountains  gently 
silhouetted  against  the  sky.  If  the  dwellings  and  build- 
ings that  interrupt  the  masses  of  trees  and  break  the 


Salle  /IBolllen 


275 


plains,  suggest  rather  a Roman  or  Greek  scene  than 
Palestine,  Poussin  has  only  followed  the  steps  of  the 
great  Italians  before  him.  The  gradations  of  tone  in  this 
whole  vista  are  a triumph  of  artistic  expression. 

At  the  left,  Mary,  in  a blue  robe  not  overburdened  with 
folds  of  drapery,  is  seated  holding  the  child  Jesus  on 
her  knees.  He  is  leaning  forward  to  caress  the  small  St. 
John  in  the  arms  of  Elizabeth.  She  is  on  her  knees, 
her  brown  robes  relieved  by  the  white  head-dress.  Her 
face  is  in  profile  and  age  has  not  greatly  marred  the  fine 
lines  of  brow,  nose  and  chin.  Behind  the  group  in  the 
centre  stands  Joseph,  his  head  and  eyes  slightly  inclined, 
his  hands  joined  in  prayer.  He  is  dressed  in  the  conven- 
tional red.  In  fact,  if  Poussin’s  red  and  blue  robes  which 
fill  so  many  of  his  pictures  could  be  eliminated,  or  at 
least  toned  down,  he  would  stand  a much  better  chance 
of  being  appreciated  at  his  true  worth. 

The  Vision  of  St.  Paul  was  painted  for  the  Abbe 
Scarron,  and  is  a subject  which  Poussin  executed  three 
times.  It  is  a small  panel,  measuring  only  eighteen  inches 
by  thirteen.  The  one  in  the  Louvre  is  a replica  of  his 
first  attempt.  St.  Paul  is  being  rapidly  borne  aloft,  by 
three  large  winged  angels.  One,  holding  his  left  hand, 
is  behind  him,  and  rises  over  his  body,  her  right  hand 
pointing  heavenward.  The  head  of  another  below  her 
is  in  shadow  under  the  saint’s  arm.  She  clasps  one  leg  of 
St.  Paul  and  seems  with  the  third  really  to  be  bearing 
his  weight.  This  last  angel  placed  lower  than  any  of  the 
others,  is  more  strongly  centred  in  the  light  than  even 
St.  Paul.  Beneath  the  group  are  the  steps  of  a large 
classic  building  on  the  topmost  of  which  is  a book,  and 
over  it  resting  on  the  portal  of  the  open  door,  a naked 
sword  which  reflects  some  of  the  light  focused  on 
the  figures  above. 


276 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  3Louv>re 


There  is  not  enough  concentration  of  interest  here. 
The  arms  and  legs  are  all  too  prominent,  giving  a forked 
sort  of  appearance  to  the  whole  picture.  In  spite  of  very 
real  beauties,  even  in  spite  of  the  exquisite  figure  of 
the  angel  on  the  left,  the  first  impression  is  of  a super- 
fluity of  flying  legs  and  waving  arms. 

Time  Rescuing  Truth  from  the  Attacks  of  Envy  and 
Discord,  Poussin  painted  to  show  his  contempt  for  Vouet 
and  the  other  French  painters. 

Poussin,  after  a youth  of  great  hardship  and  poverty, 
went  to  Rome  where  he  lived  for  most  of  the  rest  of  his 
life.  In  1640  Richelieu  called  him  to  Paris  where  he  was 
made  painter  in  ordinary  to-  the  king,  given  apartments 
at  the  Louvre  and  showered  with  presents  and  plaudits. 
His  supremacy  over  Vouet  and  the  other  French  artists 
led  to  serious  disagreements,  and  after  only  twenty-one 
months  in  the  capital,  Poussin,  much  hurt  in  his  self- 
esteem by  the  adverse  criticisms  of  Vouet  and  his  fol- 
lowers, returned  once  more  to  Rome,  never . to  leave  it 
again.  This  picture  was  painted  for  Cardinal  Richelieu 
for  a ceiling  decoration  and  was,  as  it  were,  his  final  shot 
at  his  antagonists  in  the  French  city. 

The  painting  is  round,  the  figures  are  all  of  life-size 
and  the  scene  represents  the  clouds  of  the  heavens  seen 
through  a quatrefoil  of  architectural  form.  Here  in 
the  sky  the  figure  of  Time  bears  up  Truth,  carrying  her 
to  Paradise.  A cherub  floats  on  his  back  near  by,  holding 
Time’s  sickle  and  a serpent  in  the  shape  of  a huge  circlet. 
Below,  sitting  on  the  architectural  framework,  are  En\w 
on  the  right.  Anger,  or  Discord,  on  the  left.  Time’s 
body  is  somewhat  dark  in  line  and  he  is  represented  as  an 
old  but  still  wonderfully  vigorous  man.  His  drapery 
which  falls  only  about  the  lower  part  of  his  torso,  is 
blue,  and  the  rapidity  of  his  flight  has  thrown  it  far  off 


TIME  RESCUING  TRUTH  FROM  THE  ATTACKS  OF  ENVY  AND  DISCORD 

By  Poussin 


Salle  ^olllen 


277 

his  legs.  His  wide  wings  are  in  brown  and  gray  tones. 
Truth,  lying  in  Time’s  arms,  is  a beautiful  golden-haired 
nude  woman,  with  flesh  of  much  lighter  tone  than  Time. 
Her  face  is  turned  in  profile,  her  arms  are  raised  as  if 
welcoming  the  approach  to  Eternity.  The  light  falls 
strongly  on  both  Truth  and  the  charming  little  cherub, 
while  Time  is  thrown  mostly  into  shadow.  The  clouds 
about  them  are  of  a gray-green  colour,  though  imme- 
diately below  Time’s  feet  is  an  opening  very  bright  and 
gleaming.  The  figure  of  Discord  on  the  left  shows  her 
largely  enveloped  in  a mantle  that  leaves  her  right  shoul- 
der bare.  She  is  sitting  with  one  leg  drawn  sharply  up 
till  the  knee  is  greatly  foreshortened,  the  other  stretched 
out  resting  on  the  edge  of  the  framework.  Her  head  is 
thrown  back,  bringing  her  features  into  a profile  sadly 
marred  by  the  rancour  with  which  she  gazes  after  Truth, 
but  still  showing  beauty.  The  foreshortening  of  this 
figure  and  of  Envy  is  almost  as  perfect  as  Michelangelo 
could  have  accomplished.  Indeed  the  two  figures  sug- 
gest that  master.  Discord  clasps  a torch  in  her  upraised 
right  hand  and  a poignard  in  her  left,  with  which  she 
had  evidently  struck  at  Truth  just  too  late  to  reach  her. 
She  is  a brunette  in  colouring  and  wears  blue-green  and 
red  garments.  On  the  right  is  Envy,  doubled  up  in  a 
very  frenzy  and  wound  about  with  serpents  whose  fangs 
are  poisoning  her.  Her  left  shoulder  from  which  the 
green  drapery  has  fallen  catches  the  light  and  her  face  is 
fairly  livid. 

In  this  composition  are  all  the  attributes  so  often 
claimed  for  Poussin  but  not  so  often  justified  in  his 
works.  Real  depth  of  imagination,  poetic  conception, 
magnificent  drawing,  a composition  free  from  superfluous 
accessories,  no  exaggeration  in  gesture,  pose  or  draperies, 
and  a colour  that  harmonizes  with  the  thought  expressed. 


278 


'Cbe  Hrt  ot  tbe  Xouvre 


It  is  a very  great  work  and  alone  would  be  enough  to 
make  Poussin’s  name  revered  as  one  of  the  great  men  of 
all  time. 

In  the  colour  of  the  Bacchanals  Poussin  showed  the 
influence  of  Titian.  The  one  on  the  north  wall  he  painted 
for  Richelieu  before  he  departed  for  Rome.  In  the 
immediate  foreground  a nude  Bacchante  is  lying  out  upon 
a bit  of  red  drapery,  her  head  thrown  back  in  profile, 
asleep,  a tiny  baby,  Bacchus-crowned,  lying  across  her, 
also  asleep.  At  the  left  another  small  boy  is  drinking 
out  of  a basin  held  by  a satyr  sitting  with  knees  under  him. 
A second  satyr  leans  over  and  half  holds  the  child  up, 
while  behind  the  two  another  Bacchante  in  a blue  peplum 
rests  against  a staff,  watching.  At  the  extreme  left,  two 
more  babies  are  standing  hugging  and  kissing  each  other. 
The  scene  is  laid  in  a kind  of  arbour  with  glimpses  on 
each  side  of  hills,  trees,  country  and  cloud-filled  skies. 

A group  of  five  cherubs  makes  the  Concert.  They 
are  playing  and  singing  in  the  midst  of  a rather  simple 
and  sombre  landscape.  The  leader  of  the  band  stands 
in  front,  legs  planted  firmly  and  widely  apart,  a laurel 
wreath  in  both  extended  hands.  Behind  him  sitting  on 
the  ground  are  three  others.  One,  on  the  left,  in  profile, 
has  his  right  hand  raised  as  if  marking  time  for  the  other 
two  sitting  in  front  of  him  singing.  One  of  these  holds 
the  sheet  of  music,  while  the  other  looks  over  his  shoul- 
der. Between  the  first  and  these  two  stands  a fourth 
playing  a big  bass  viol.  There  is  a gaiety,  spontaneity, 
abandon,  and  light-heartedness  about  this  equal  to 
Rubens,  with  a refinement  Rubens  never  had.  The 
colour,  too,  is  warm  and  glowing. 

The  Four  Seasons,  are  scenes  taken  from  Biblical 
history  and  were  done  late  in  life.  They  are  not  up  to 


Salle  /IDolUen  279 

his  highest  level,  though  French  critics  have  praised  parts 
of  them  greatly. 

Like  Poussin,  Claude  Gellee,  who  is  best  known  by 
the  name  Claude  Lorrain,  spent  most  of  his  artistic  life 
in  Italy.  He  was  a Frenchman  by  little  more  than  birth. 
It  was  Italy  that  he  loved,  painted  and  chose  for  home. 
Unlike  Poussin,  it  was  not  the  antique  that  he  worshipped 
but  the  panorama  of  nature  herself.  At  his  time  French 
landscape  art  was  a thing  scarcely  out  of  its  swaddling- 
clothes,  if  indeed  it  can  be  said  to  have  existed  at  all. 
He  is  not  the  follower  nor  yet  the  founder  of  any  school. 
His  poetic  renderings  of  Italian  country  and  seas  are  the 
transcripts  of  his  own  dreams.  He  had  no  one  before 
him  to  suggest  such  renderings  and  no  imitators  could  re- 
produce his  style  without  possessing  his  mind  and  im- 
agination. So  penetrated  by  individuality  is  every  tone 
of  this  golden  singer  that  to  copy  is  to  leave  out  all  that 
made  the  works  the  exquisite  songs  they  are.  Though 
Lorrain  studied  nature  directly  and  spent  hours  memoriz- 
ing every  passing  atmospheric  change,  he  cannot  be  called 
a literal  translator  of  nature’s  moods.  Whatever  he  saw 
he  saw  through  the  golden  haze  of  his  own  imagination 
and  as  such  gave  it  to  the  world.  He  seldom  makes  an 
exact  portrayal  of  any  definite  place,  though  he  has  done 
so  with  the  Campo  Vaccino,  the  heights  of  Tivoli  and  a 
few  others.  But  generally  he  put  in  bits  from  various 
places,  regardless  of  their  geographical  position.  He  could 
not  paint  figures  well  and  used  to  say  that  he  sold  his  land- 
scapes and  gave  away  the  figures  in  them.  Till  Ruskin’s 
day  Claude’s  name  was  synonymous  for  all  that  was 
perfect  in  landscape  art.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  now,  only 
so  few  years  after  his  arraignment  by  this  English  man- 
of-letters,  Claude’s  real  and  undying  genius  is  as  thor- 
oughly, if  more  judiciously  admired  than  ever.  This  lack 


28o  Ubc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 

of  appreciation  on  Ruskin’s  part  is  one  of  the  many  rea- 
sons why  he  was  far  from  being  the  art  critic  that  he 
considered  himself. 

There  are  sixteen  paintings  by  Claude  in  this  room, 
of  which  the  most  beautiful,  perhaps,  is  the  Landing  of 
Cleopatra  at  Tarsus.  This  is  in  splendid  preservation, 
and  is  rightly  considered  one  of  his  chefs-d’ceuvre.  At  the 
left  the  huge  treasure-filled  barks  of  Cleopatra  are  at 
anchor  near  the  shore  at  the  right.  Cleopatra  has  just 
landed  from  one  of  the  small  boats  and  is  stepping  up 
the  royally  wide  entrance  to  the  palace-like  portal.  Sur- 
rounded with  attendants,  she  is  holding  out  her  hand  in 
greeting  to  Mark  Antony  who  is  awaiting  her  on  the 
landing.  Another  marble  palace  is  slightly  behind  this, 
and  that  too  is  lapped  at  its  foundations  by  the  waves 
that,  as  they  ripple  and  break,  are  bathed  in  the  glory 
of  the  sun  only  just  risen.  The  distance  is  the  glowing 
east,  and  the  wonder  of  the  whole  picture  is  not  in  these 
carefully  posed,  stiff,  unnatural  figures,  nor  in  the  classic 
lines  of  architecture,  nor  even  in  the  mighty  barks  that 
form  so  admirable  a dark  mass  against  the  sky.  Not  in 
these,  but  in  the  molten  haze  that  shimmers  over  the  blue 
waves  broken  into  silver  under  the  sun’s  rays,  in  the 
shining  of  the  enfolding  atmosphere,  in  the  golden  poesie 
that,  much  more  than  temple,  bark  or  queen  recalls  the 
days  that  poets  sing. 

Far  different  in  subject  is  the  \Tllage  Dance.  In  the 
centre  a number  of  villagers  are  dancing  in  the  shadow  of 
spreading  trees.  A hunting-party  has  just  arrived  and 
one  of  the  gay  men  has  taken  a village  maid  by  the  hand 
to  join  in  the  festivities.  M.  Emile  IMichel  thinks  it  is 
perhaps  a souvenir  of  Qaude’s  birthplace. 

The  figures  in  Samuel  Anointing  David  King  of 
Israel,  are  placed  under  a Doric  portico,  which  was  an 


Salle  /iDolUen 


281 


anachronism  as  common  to  the  learned  Poussin  as  to 
illiterate  Qaude.  Time  and  unfortunate  restoration  have 
greatly  injured  this,  but  there  is  a tender  mellow  light 
that  swims  over  the  whole  canvas,  and  the  middle  distance 
with  its  luminous,  delicate  gradations,  is  beautiful, 

Ulysses  Restoring  Chryseis  to  Her  Father  was  painted 
for  the  Due  de  Liancourt  and  used  to  hang  in  his  beauti- 
ful chateau.  It  is  somewhat  hurt  by  time  but  is  still 
lovely.  The  sky  is  golden,  with  the  sun  not  far  above 
the  horizon,  and  almost  in  front  of  it  is  the  bark  of  the 
warrior,  blurring  with  its  own  dark  mass  and  shadow 
the  golden  pathway  thrown  across  the  dancing  waves. 
But  the  edges  of  the  gently  ruffled  waves  still  catch  the 
shimmer  and  cut  the  darker  blue  sharply.  At  the  left 
the  enormous  pile  of  princely  buildings  rises  in  half- 
light,  and  at  the  top  of  a stairway  of  most  royal  gran- 
deur, Chryseis  is  presented  to  her  waiting  father  by 
Ulysses.  The  immediate  foreground  is  the  beach  that 
bounds  the  harbour  and  here  sailors  are  unloading  small 
boats,  bringing  cattle  to  land  on  heavy  scow-like  barges, 
while  merchants  and  others  stand  talking.  Other  barks 
are  seen  in  the  harbour,  and  as  always  there  is  the  soft 
middle  plane  and  faintly  hazy  distance  where  sea  and 
sky  meet. 

Campo  Vaccino  is  a picture  of  the  forum  with  people 
scattered  here  and  there.  This  shows  something  of 
Claude’s  effulgence  of  colour  and  luminosity  of  sky,  but 
there  is  a certain  studied  effect  in  the  whole  scene. 

Claude  has  many  so-called  Seaports  in  the  Louvre, 
sometimes  with  the  sun  sinking,  sometimes  rising,  now 
bursting  through  a cloud,  anon  veiled  by  a vaporous 
haze.  But  at  whatever  time  or  state  of  day  there  is 
always  the  shimmering  golden  atmosphere,  the  sun-kissed 


202 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


waves,  the  translucent  sky.  It  is  sufficient,  perhaps,  to 
describe  one  to  give  a fair  idea  of  all. 

A Seaport  at  Sunset,  shows  numerous  groups  of  people 
on  the  sandy  beach  of  the  harbour.  At  the  left  some 
travellers  are  seated  on  a pile  of  baggage,  one  playing  a 
guitar.  Below,  two  noblemen  are  talking  with  a turbaned 
Turk,  and  in  the  centre  a chevalier  is  drawing  his  sword 
in  an  attempt  to  separate  a couple  of  fighting  sailors. 
Small  boats  are  drawn  up  on  the  shore  and  beyond  in  the 
harbour  huge  vessels  mass  themselves  dark  against  the 
sky.  At  the  left  are  a temple  and  lines  of  palatial  build- 
ings. More  boats,  big  and  little,  float  on  the  golden-tinted 
waves  of  the  harbour,  and  at  the  right  in  the  distance  a 
bulky  tower,  its  heaviness  half-obscured  in  the  shimmer- 
ing haze  of  the  setting  sun,  looms  above  the  horizon  line. 
Soft  clouds  melt  into  the  arching  sky,  and  the  w'hole  is 
like  a day’s  dream. 

There  is  no  poet’s  day-dreaming  in  the  pictures  by 
the  brothers  Le  Nain,  a number  of  whose  works  are 
in  Salle  XIV.  It  is  impossible  to  distinguish  the  stifle 
of  these  three  brothers  or  properly  to  individualize  their 
personalities.  They  were  among  the  earliest  of  the 
academicians  and  were  more  influenced  by  the  Dutch 
or  Flemish  than  by  the  Italians.  Their  flesh-tones 
are  dull,  rather  gray,  with  a greenish  tone,  their  brush- 
work  is  tight,  their  people  have  a sad,  drawm  expression 
recalling  the  mournfulness  of  the  visages  of  the  Dutch 
Madonnas.  Their  drawing,  if  not  impeccable  is  at  least 
solid,  and  rather  convincing.  Their  heads  are  particularly 
careful  in  construction,  but  their  hands,  though  character- 
istic frequently  lack  definiteness  of  structure. 

The  Apparition  of  St.  Scholastica  to  St.  Benedict 
by  Le  Sueur,  once  in  the  Salon  Carre,  shows  the  saint 
kneeling  in  his  white  robes,  his  hands  outspread,  his  face 


Salle  /IDolUen 


283 


lifted  in  profile,  the  light  from  the  heavens  streaming  upon 
his  face.  He  is  in  the  midst  of  an  indefinite  rocky  land- 
scape and  before  him  sweeps  down  the  celestial  group 
of  his  vision.  St.  Scholastica,  her  hands  crossed  on  her 
breast,  is  draped  in  blue.  Three  little  angels  look  out 
from  behind  her  robes  and  two  young  maidens  are  at  her 
right,  almost  touching  the  ground  with  their  feet.  At 
her  left  are  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul,  Peter  in  front  with 
outspread  arms  regarding  St.  Benedict,  Paul  behind 
pointing  to  the  heavens  from  which  the  light  streams. 
There  is  beauty  of  expression  here  and  real  character 
drawing.  As  a composition  it  is  not  so  good.  The  colour 
is  pleasing,  and  as  a whole  it  is  full  of  a reality  of  religious 
fervour. 

Nineteen  pictures  by  Le  Brun  hang  in  this  salle.  Le 
Brun  was  the  court  painter  of  Louis  XIV.  He  was  also 
director  of  the  Gobelins  where  not  only  tapestries  but 
furniture,  jewelry,  mosaics,  marquetry  and  bronzes  were 
designed.  It  is  really  all  his  work  that  is  now  called 
Louis  Quatorze.  He  was  one  of  the  founders  of  the 
Royal  Academy,  in  1648,  and  was  given  one  grade  after 
another  in  that  celebrated  company.  Le  Brun  has  been 
denominated  the  “ Louis  XIV.  in  art,”  and  a critic  has 
remarked  “ That  Le  Brun’s  work  looks  to  us  as  if  he 
never  could  have  begun  to  paint  without  putting  on  the 
biggest  of  wigs.”  He  had  very  little  real  feeling  and  has 
been  called  the  chief  of  the  theatrical  school  of  his  time. 
The  influence  of  Annibale  Caracci  is  seen  in  his  strongly 
contrasted  groups,  attitudes,  draperies,  in  his  forced  tones, 
and  in  an  ever  noticeable  grandiose  manner.  In  all  his 
works  there  is  a pomposity  that  his  marvellous  fecundity, 
his  really  noble  conceptions  do  not  condone.  His  was  not 
the  art  to  express  the  inner,  deeper  emotions.  He  was  at 
his  best  when  he  could  indicate  feeling  by  more  or  less 


284 


XTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


violent  contraction  of  muscles,  by  strong  movements  of 
arms,  hands,  heads  or  body,  by  marked  gestures  and  atti- 
tudes. All  his  characteristics  are  found  in  his  scenes 
from  the  life  of  Alexander.  This  series  of  pictures  was 
supposed  to  be  a sort  of  allegorical  history  of  the  triumphs 
of  Louis  XIV.  himself,  and  was  painted  directly  under 
the  eyes  of  the  king.  After  the  fire  of  1661  he  restored 
the  gallery  of  the  Louvre  and  his  painting  of  Apollo  on  the 
ceiling  gave  to  it  the  name  of  Galerie  d’Apollon.  Le  Brun 
exercised  so  strong  an  influence  over  the  artists  of  his 
time  that  it  can  be  said  without  exaggeration  that  Pierre 
Mignard  and  Vouet  were  the  only  two  who  did  not 
come  completely  under  his  sway. 

The  Martyrdom  of  St.  Etienne  and  the  Holy  Family, 
called  The  Blessing,  have  noble  characterizations  of  face 
and  scholarly  drawing.  In  the  latter  especially  there  is 
for  him  an  unusual  grace  and  delicacy  of  sentiment. 

In  the  Passage  of  the  Granicus  Alexander  has  crossed 
the  river,  his  battalions  are  partly  over  and  partly  in  the 
middle  of  the  stream.  Battle-axes  and  spears  are  flashing 
and  crashing  on  all  sides,  standards  are  flying  and  every- 
where are  extreme  movement,  noise,  and  warfare.  Alex- 
ander is  in  the  centre  of  the  melee,  his  white  plume  flying 
victoriously  in  the  air.  His  sword  is  drawn  in  one  hand 
his  shield  is  in  the  other,  his  horse  is  already  trampling 
on  the  white  horse  of  his  enemy.  Behind  the  king,  Qytus, 
armed  with  a battle-axe  parries  the  thrust  that  Spithri- 
dates  tries  to  give  Alexander.  A trumpeter  behind  blows 
upon  his  instrument  and  orders  forward  the  army  who  at 
the  left  are  crossing  the  flood.  At  the  right  are  the 
cavalry  with  their  standards  flying. 

In  the  Entrance  of  Alexander  into  Babylon  the  con- 
queror is  standing  in  profile  in  his  gold  and  ivory 
chariot,  drawn  by  elephants.  By  his  side  his  slaves  bear 


Salle  /lOolllen 


285 


a huge,  elaborately  carved  vase  and  before  them,  directing, 
is  a mounted  captain.  Behind  and  around  him  his  officers 
ride,  the  steps  of  temples  and  palaces  are  crowded  with 
watchers  and  at  the  extreme  left  a family  are  crouched 
watching  the  conquering  king. 

There  is  some  of  the  pompous  grandeur  of  Le  Brun  to 
be  found  in  the  works  of  Rigaud,  who  was  a boy  when 
Le  Brun  was  at  the  height  of  his  fame ; but  at  his  best 
Rigaud  had  perhaps  fewer  faults  than  almost  any  other 
painter  of  his  time,  and  in  his  more  intimate  portraits  like 
those  of  his  wife  and  mother  we  find  him  remarkably 
free  from  the  academical  restraints  and  conventions  that 
governed  so  largely  most  of  his  day.  In  the  seventeenth 
century  the  French  were  too  near  the  end  of  the  Italian 
Renaissance  to  feel  the  decadence  in  Guido,  the  Caracci, 
Caravaggio.  It  was  consequently  natural  that  the 
French  painters  of  that  day,  who,  with  few  exceptions 
lived  as  much  as  possible  in  Italy,  should  fashion  them- 
selves on  this  lowered  model.  Rigaud  was  remarkably 
free  from  “ that  domination  of  misunderstood  precedent 
which  was  the  bane  of  all  the  arts  in  his  time  and  coun- 
try.” This  may  be  largely  laid  to  his  admiration  of  Van 
Dyck  and  his  endeavour  to  make  his  portraits  partake 
somewhat  of  the  attributes  of  the  great  Fleming,  but 
even  of  this  man  his  imitation  was  never  slavish.  His 
heads  are  marked  by  strong  individuality,  his  hands  no 
less.  His  pictures  lose  the  stiff,  set,  angular  lines  of  his 
contemporaries,  his  lace  ruffles  fall  in  some  disorder,  his 
scarfs  and  draperies  are  blown  by  a contrary  wind,  there 
is  a feeling  of  freedom,  perhaps  almost  of  license  in  the 
very  accessories  of  his  portraits.  In  Rigaud’s  time  histori- 
cal painting  was  considered  the  art  par  excellence  and  it 
was  only  by  Le  Brun’s  advice,  who  saw  the  marked  bent 
of  Rigaud’s  talent  that  the  latter  did  not  devote  himself 


286  XTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 

wholly  to  that  so-called  more  aristocratic  branch  of 
art. 

Of  the  pictures  by  him  in  the  Louvre  the  canvas  bear- 
ing the  Portraits  of  His  Mother  in  this  room  is  the  most 
charming.  The  two  heads  are  painted  facing  each  other, 
the  left  in  exact  profile,  the  right  turned  so  that  a bit  of 
the  right  cheek  is  seen.  Both  have  a white  fichu,  a black 
waist,  earrings  and  a violet  velvet  cap.  There  are  a sober 
earnestness  and  yet  a decided  savoir-faire  about  the  head 
that  give  a very  attractive  and  decidedly  French  indi- 
viduality to  them.  They  are  painted  with  a freedom,  a 
fineness  and  a surety  that  recall  Van  Dyck,  possibly,  but 
it  is  nevertheless  wholly  Rigaud.  The  face  has  an  aquiline 
nose,  a noble  forehead,  a firm  yet  tender  mouth  and  a 
steadfast  eye.  It  is  altogether  one  of  Rigaud’s  greatest 
works. 

Better  known,  perhaps,  but  far  inferior  in  artistic  value, 
is  his  Portrait  of  Louis  XIV.,  painted  in  1701.  The  king 
stands  with  his  right  hand  on  his  sceptre  which  he  rests  on 
an  ottoman  beside  him,  his  left  on  his  hip.  His  left  foot 
is  advanced  with  the  mincing,  pointed  toe  as  if  he  were 
about  to  step  into  a minuet.  The  high  red-heeled  shoes, 
the  stupidly  statuesque  legs  and  the  long  folds  of  the 
voluminous  draperies,  are  all  so  bad  that  one  can  only 
marvel  at  the  taste  of  a time  that  admired  them.  Spread- 
ing about  him  in  deep  folds  is  the  enormous  blue  velvet 
robe  with  its  ermine  lining,  and  its  golden  embroidered 
fleurs-de-lis.  Back  of  him  are  the  red  curtains  fairly 
rampant  in  their  folds  and  creases  and  back  of  them  the 
inevitable  pillars.  The  head,  with  its  overpowering  wig 
of  curls  that  fall  over  his  shoulders,  is  well  painted  and  it 
is  evident  that  Rigaud  was  not  afraid  to  put  down  exactly 
what  he  found  in  the  person  of  his  royal  sitter.  If  at  that 
day  it  was  called  grandeur,  dignity  and  most  ro3'al  poise, 


Salle  /lOolllen  287 

now  it  looks  very  like  pomposity,  strut  and  most  egre- 
gious self-esteem. 

The  Portrait  of  Bossuet  is  much  better,  and  in  spite  of 
the  conventional  background,  and  the  usual  heavy  robes 
and  laces  of  the  prelate,  there  is  very  wonderful  delinea- 
tion in  that  thin-lipped,  keen-eyed,  strong-chinned,  ascetic- 
browed  statesman-churchman-poet.  It  is  supposed  that 
only  the  face  is  wholly  the  work  of  Rigaud. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


SALLE  DARU  — FRENCH  SCHOOL  — ROOM  XVI. 

Salle  Daru  numbered  XVI.  on  the  plan,  contains 
French  paintings  of  the  eighteenth  century.  The  begin- 
ning of  this  century  found  art  at  a low  ebb  in  France.  All 
artists  except  Le  Moine  and  De  Troy  and  a few  portrait- 
painters,  were  living  in  great  poverty.  Everybody  was 
sick  of  historical  painting  yet  nobody  ventured  to  express 
preference  for  anything  else.  No  painter  dared  go  con- 
trary to  the  traditions  of  Le  Brun.  It  was  not  till 
Watteau  calmly  cut  his  own  path  far  away  from  the  boun- 
daries of  the  Grand  Monarch’s  domain  that  French  art 
found  itself  started  on  a highway  all  its  ovm. 

The  two  Coypels,  father  and  son,  who  both  have  pic- 
tures in  Salle  Daru,  were  samples  of  this  pseudo-classic, 
weakly  imitative  art.  Antoine  was  first  painter  to  the 
king  and  director  to  the  Royal  Academy.  In  his  works 
at  Versailles  he  evinces  an  ability  in  composition,  in  ex- 
pression and  in  arrangement  of  line  decidedly  beyond 
anything  shown  in  his  easel-pictures  at  the  Louvre. 
Susannah  and  the  Elders  and  Esther  in  the  presence  of 
Ahasuerus,  are  the  best  examples  here,  and  they  have 
much  theatrical  arrangement  and  overdone  action. 

His  son  Charles  Antoine  was  his  most  noted  pupil,  but 
he  too  made  no  impression  on  the  art  of  his  time.  His 
Perseus  Delivering  Andromeda  is  conventional,  unin- 
spired, forced. 


288 


Salle  Daru 


289 


A long  list  of  works  by  Desportes  hang  in  this  room 
and  show  that  he,  the  first  great  animal-painter  of  France 
was  very  little  influenced  by  the  strictures  of  the  school 
of  Le  Brun.  In  spite  of  his  unlikeness  to  the  Grand  Mon- 
arch’s chief  painter,  he  was  a favourite  with  Louis  XIV., 
and  used  to  attend  him  often  on  his  hunting  expeditions. 
The  king  gave  him  a pension  and  lodged  him  at  the 
Louvre.  When  any  rare  animals  arrived  Desportes  was 
called  upon  to  paint  their  portraits.  His  pictures  of  the 
hunting-dogs  of  Louis,  placed  in  decidedly  effective  land- 
scapes, are  really  wonderful  and  show  a marvellous  study 
of  life.  It  is  only  in  their  surroundings  and  arrangements 
and  certain  manipulations  that  they  seem  to  be  influenced 
by  the  classicism  of  the  day.  His  colour  was  fresh  and 
transparent,  and  he  was  a no  mean  portrait-painter  as  is 
proved  by  his  Chasseur  and  the  Portrait  of  Himself  at 
the  Louvre.  But  it  is  in  his  dogs  that  he  is  greatest. 
They  are  marvels  of  exact  and  most  sympathetic  observa- 
tion. Their  nervous  little  bodies  are  rendered  with  a 
truth  and  spirit  that  show  how  thoroughly  he  had 
watched  and  studied  their  movements  and  their  features. 
Their  big,  pleading  eyes,  eager,  sensitive  noses,  their 
excited  ears,  their  whole  palpitating,  mobile  bodies,  find  a 
quick  appreciation  and  understanding  in  the  brush  of  this 
painter,  who  was  himself  a hunter.  His  birds,  rabbits, 
foxes  and  horses  are  scarcely  less  extraordinary  in  their 
truth  to  nature.  In  still-life  also,  in  painting  the  grape, 
the  peach,  all  fruits,  there  is  perhaps  no  one  but  Chardin 
in  the  French  school  of  this  century  that  could  approach 
him. 

Diana  and  Blond  two  pack-hounds  of  Louis  XIV.,  show 
the  dogs  starting  a covey  of  pheasants.  One  of  these  has 
risen  into  the  air  and  is  flying  off,  two  others  are  in  the 
grass  just  in  front  of  Diana’s  guarding  paws.  Behind 


290 


Zhc  art  of  tbe  Xouvre 


her  half-crouches  Blond,  head  projected,  tail  straight  out, 
the  tassel-end  as  stiff  as  a pump-handle,  her  eyes  staring 
in  an  intensity  of  excitement  that  makes  her  whole  lovely, 
soft  body  one  quiver.  Diana  is  flat  on  the  ground  full 
of  an  equal  if  more  repressed  excitement.  Her  eyes,  in 
their  sharpened  gleam,  seem  as  if  they  would  force  them- 
selves out  of  that  intelligent,  dark-spotted  face. 

Bonne,  Nonne  and  Bonne  is  a similar  scene.  Again 
the  dogs  have  found  the  hidden  red  partridges.  The  two 
birds  are  at  the  right  behind  some  high  mullion  and  grass, 
and  before  them,  filling  the  centre  and  left  of  the  picture, 
are  the  three  black  and  white  hounds,  in  positions  as 
various  as  they  are  graceful  and  dramatic.  The  one  in 
the  foreground  is  crawling  along  almost  on  her  stomach, 
her  nose  lifted,  sniffing,  her  eye  earnest  but  cautious. 
Behind  her  one  with  many  black  spots  as  well  as  a black 
head  and  saddle-like  smooch,  stands  upright,  her  left  fore- 
paw lifted  in  a very  agony  of  excitement.  The  beautiful 
sparkling  eye  and  eager  mouth  and  nose  are  almost 
human  in  expression.  Nearer  still  to  the  birds  is  the 
third  who  has  evidently  stopped  just  in  time  to  prevent 
falling  over  the  treasure.  She  is  turned  around  as  if  she 
had  suddenly  twisted  herself  on  to  her  haunches,  her 
head  toward  the  prey,  her  tongue  protruding,  her  eyes 
staring. 

The  Portrait  of  a Hunter,  which  critics  pronounce 
a really  magnificent  work  for  that  or  any  time,  represents 
a man  in  a gray  peruke,  dressed  in  a violet  suit,  white 
cravat  and  gray  gaiters,  seated  upon  a stone,  turned 
three-quarters  to  the  right.  He  holds  upon  his  knee  his 
ferret,  one  grevhound  is  at  his  side,  another  behind  him. 

In  the  Portrait  of  Himself,  Desportes  is  seated  under 
a tree,  leaning  slightly  backward,  his  body  stretched  out 
and  turned  so  it  is  in  nearly  full  face.  By  his  side. 


Salle  Barn 


291 


looking  up  with  pathetic  and  infinite  afifection,  is  a dog, 
over  whom  Desportes  has  placed  his  left  hand.  And 
what  a firm,  fine,  sensitive  hand  it  is ! Carefully  but 
spiritedly  drawn,  full  of  a nervous  but  restrained  feeling, 
one  needs  only  to  look  at  it  to  know  the  character  of  this 
animal  lover  and  this  really  estimable  man.  His  right 
hand  is  held  out  grasping  a gun.  The  game  they  have 
captured,  a rabbit,  a duck,  some  pheasant,  quail  and  other 
birds,  is  heaped  at  the  dog’s  feet.  At  the  left  of  the  pic- 
ture, three-quarters  back  to,  is  a slender,  graceful  grey- 
hound, who  also  is  turning  his  affectionate  face  toward 
his  master.  Desportes  is  clad  in  regular  hunting-costume, 
a gray  cloak,  violet  breeches,  blue  waistcoat  and  leather 
gaiters.  A soft  white  cravat  is  about  his  neck,  and  the 
full  white  shirt-sleeves  show  below  the  coat.  The  land- 
scape background  is  not  disagreeably  conventional  in  its 
sloping,  hilly  distance. 

The  First  Chapter  of  the  Order  of  the  Holy  Ghost  by 
De  Troy  is  almost  equal  to  his  great  Plague  at  Marseilles. 
There  are  here  both  energy  and  dignity.  Charles  Blanc 
says  that  in  all  French  painting  it  is  difficult  to  find  a 
picture  more  “corsee,”  more  “ male,”  or  more  “ Here.” 
Within  the  church  of  the  convent  of  the  “ Grands- Augus- 
tins,” is  the  king,  seated  on  the  right  on  a throne,  in 
three-quarters  view.  He  is  receiving  as  new  chevaliers 
of  the  order,  Henri  de  Bourbon  and  Due  de  Montpensier, 
who  are  kneeling,  and  Henri  d’Orleans,  who  is  leaning 
over  with  his  hand  on  his  breast.  About  the  king  are  the 
grand  officers  of  the  throne,  and  in  the  tribunes  are  the 
ladies  of  the  court  assisting  at  the  ceremony.  Behind 
the  throne  is  a green  drapery  with  the  Holy  Spirit  flying 
in  an  aureole  of  gold. 

Rigaud  said  of  the  painter  of  that  picture  that  if  his 
capacity  for  work  had  equalled  his  genius,  the  art  of 


292 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


painting  had  never  known  a greater  illustration.  He 
could  paint  flesh  delicately,  stuffs  with  reality  and  pre- 
cision and  heads  and  hands  with  expressiveness. 

A great  rival  of  De  Troy  in  the  early  years  of  the 
eighteenth  century  was  Francois  le  Moine,  of  whom  it 
has  been  said  that  no  one  ever  came  up  to  him  in  the 
freshness  of  his  brush  and  the  lightness  of  his  touch. 
He  is  claimed  to  be  the  inventor  of  the  “ rayon  rose,” 
which  became  such  a characteristic  of  his  pupil  Watteau. 
His  “ air  of  ease,”  the  apparent  lack  of  effort  in  his  works, 
and  his  pleasing,  gay  colour  gave  him  great  vogue. 

Juno,  Iris  and  Flora  in  this  room  shows  these  char- 
acteristics accompanied  by  that  pretty  surface  modelling 
which  rarely  fails  to  attract  us  in  his  draudngs  and 
which  in  spite  of  the  inj  uries  of  time  or  the  rough  mercies 
of  cleansing  and  restoring,  still  interests  us  in  his  mural 
works. 

With  Watteau,  whose  famous  Embarkation  for  the 
Isle  of  Cythera,  hangs  on  the  north  wall  of  this  room, 
we  come  to  the  great  French  genius  of  this  age.  Like  so 
many  artists,  Watteau  became  a painter  in  spite  of  the 
incredible  hardship  and  poverty  that  would  have  soon 
discouraged  a less  talented  nature.  His  wonderful 
draughtsmanship  he  learned  quite  by  himself,  working 
late  into  the  night  after  a long  day  in  a sort  of  atelier 
where  portraits  or  religious  scenes  were  turned  out  by 
the  gross  for  provincial  dealers.  A few  years  later  he 
was  employed  by  Claude  Audran,  custodian  of  the  Lux- 
embourg, so  getting  a chance  to  see  Rubens’s  Medici 
paintings  as  well  as  works  of  some  of  the  great  Italians. 
He  was  undoubtedly  influenced  by  Rubens,  by  Titian 
and  Veronese,  but  he  was  always  himself  and  copied  no 
one.  He  was  a most  admirable  draughtsman,  his  little 
figures  stand  as  firmly  on  their  feet,  have  as  truly  felt, 


Salle  Baru 


293 


without  the  least  bit  of  obstreperous,  anatomy,  as  any 
giant  figures  of  the  greatest  masters  of  any  day.  Always 
sick  and  sufifering,  and  of  an  unfailing  self-severity, 
Watteau  shows  his  own  poverty  and  ill-health  in 
his  pictures  as  little  as  Stevenson  does  his  in  his 
romances.  All  are  suffused  with  a sort  of  shimmering, 
golden-silver  gaiety.  Tliey  depict  a realm  of  phantasy, 
of  poetry,  of  love.  Yet  the  people  in  them  are  to  a 
certain  extent  the  people  of  the  time.  Their  prototypes 
were  the  ladies  and  nobles  of  that  airy,  flowery,  dancing 
age,  they  who  were  so  buoyantly  gay,  so  full  of  a thistle- 
down lightness  that  for  awhile  their  feet  never  felt 
the  crumbling  of  the  ruins  beneath  them.  Watteau  loved 
the  shimmering  of  striped  satins  and  gay  figured  silks, 
but  as  much  he  loved  the  soft  cool  tones  of  the  sylvan 
glades,  the  spring  laden  trees  that  made  such  exquisite 
settings  for  his  fairylike  love-scenes.  If  his  art  has 
been  called  trivial,  unreal  and  shallow,  it  has  neverthe- 
less a reality  of  its  own,  and  a charm,  a spontaneity,  and 
a rare  golden  grace,  that  in  comparison  make  many 
more  sober  and  more  noble  works  seem  bereft  of  some- 
thing both  vital  and  alluring.  He  created,  one  may 
fairly  say,  an  age.  At  his  advent  painting  had  become 
merely  a tool  for  the  Grand  Monarch’s  display.  Historical 
paintings,  allegorical  or  symbolical  scenes,  apotheoses 
of  that  strutting  piece  of  royalty  were  simply  ways  of  ex- 
tolling the  person,  face  or  fame  of  the  vainest  of  human 
beings.  No  wonder  art  had  reached  a . point  where  all 
initiative,  all  originality  was  gone.  Into  such  a condition 
did  Watteau  come  and  for  him  the  condition  apparently 
did  not  exist.  It  was  as  if  he  had  never  heard  what  was 
the  “ correct  ” manner  of  displaying  his  art.  He  was 
in  the  truest  if  not  the  most  sublime  sense,  original  and 
untrammelled,  cutting  a path  for  the  first  time  for  himself 


294  Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 

and  leaving  such  a shining  track  behind  him  that  many 
were  the  lesser  minds  that  knew  no  better  than  to  follow 
close  after,  never  thinking  that  in  such  blind  following 
they  were  going  directly  contrary  to  his  very  principles  of 
self-expression.  De  Goncourt  says  that  all  the  painters  of 
the  eighteenth  century  with  the  exception  of  Chardin, 
partook  something  of  Watteau.  He  dominated  them  all, 
says  the  French  critic.  Not  alone  the  servile  imitators, 
Lancret,  and  Pater,  but  Boucher,  Van  Loo,  Ollivier,  Fra- 
gonard, all  followed  him. 

The  Embarkation  for  Cythera  is  a sketch  of  the 
finished  picture  now  in  Berlin.  It  is  universally  con- 
sidered Watteau’s  greatest  achievement.  This  sketch, 
if  less  perfect  than  the  completed  picture,  has  possibly 
an  even  greater  charm  in  its  beauty  of  suggestion  and 
in  its  spontaneous  gaiety.  The  scene  represents  a knoll 
on  the  bank  of  a golden  stream,  whose  soft  shores  stretch 
out  in  the  distance  till  lost  in  the  glowing  suffusement 
of  distant  colour.  On  the  right,  under  noble  trees  is  a 
party  of  lovers,  who  are  preparing  to  follow  their  com- 
panions down  to  the  shore  where  lies  at  anchor  the  ship 
of  love’s  dream.  Farther  at  the  right  is  a statue  of 
Venus  about  which  two  small  Cupids  are  playing.  IMore 
of  these  Cupids  are  everywhere,  now  helping  an 
“ amorous  swain  ” to  persuade  his  lady-love  to  accom- 
pany him  on  the  wonder-boat,  and  now  assisting  the 
loving  couples  to  embark.  But  most  of  them  swarm 
around  the  bark  itself.  Some  are  pulling  up  the  sails, 
some  weighing  anchor,  and  a whole  garland  of  them  are 
in  the  air  as  high  as  the  topmast,  swinging  about  in  a 
revel  of  joy  and  grace.  These  Cupids  perhaps  suggest 
Rubens  at  his  very  best.  But  they  have  an  infantile  and 
yet  a fairylike  charm  that  Rubens  scarcely  approached. 
They  are  neither  angels  nor  Cupids.  They  are  angel- 


EMBARKATION  FOR  CYTHERA 
Ky  Watteau 


I 


Salle  Daru 


295 


cupids.  If  they  have  an  esprit,  a fairylike  vivacity 
hardly  compatible  with  baby  angels,  they  have  at  the 
same  time  too  refined  a delicacy,  too  tender  a spiritu- 
ality to  be  Cupids,  per  se.  They  are  the  quintessence 
of  Watteau’s  art.  In  them  is  seen  perhaps  more 
plainly  than  anywhere  else,  how  the  alembic  of  his 
brush  changed  all  it  touched  into  something  more  glow- 
ing, more  exquisite,  more  sweetly  languorous,  or  more 
daintily  gay,  than  , ever  brush  did  before  or  since. 
They  are  indeed  the  very  spirits  of  the  art  that  Watteau 
made  the  art  of  the  eighteenth  century. 

Hardly  less  charming  and  tender  than  these  dancing, 
flying  spirits  are  the  lovers  who  people  the  scene.  The 
beautiful  soft  satins  and  velvets,  the  lovely  forms,  the 
graceful  groupings,  all  show,  individually  and  collectively, 
not  alone  Watteau’s  idyllic  sweetness  and  power  to  tell 
a fairy-tale,  but  equally  well  his  unerring  draughtsman- 
ship, ability  as  a composer  and  his  marvellous  eye  for 
colour.  It  is  this  last  which  is  the  all-pervading  and 
ever-remaining  attribute  of  the  picture  as  a whole,  and 
which,  even  more  than  all  the  rest  makes  it  one  of  the 
loveliest  pictures  in  the  world.  It  is  as  impossible  ade- 
quately to  describe  the  golden  glow  that  suffuses  the 
whole  surface  as  it  is  to  bring  by  words  before  ones  eyes 
the  gradations  in  Titian’s  flesh-tones.  In  its  own  way 
it  is  as  great  a marvel  of  the  brush.  It  is  this  golden 
play  of  colours  that  puts  the  whole  scene  into  the  realm 
of  phantasy,  into  the  land  of  dreams.  Nowhere  else  is 
all  nature  so  surcharged  with  this  palpitating,  shimmer- 
ing, silver-golden  haze  that  wraps  about  every  object 
and  claims  it  for  its  own. 

As  has  been  stated  there  was  one  painter  who  was  as 
little  influenced  by  Watteau  as  was  he  by  the  classic 
school  of  painting.  This  was  Chardin,  as  great  a man 


296 


^be  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


in  his  own  way  as  Watteau  in  his  and  representing  not  at 
all  the  art  of  France  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Lady 
Dilke  has  admirably  said,  “ He  was  not  so  much  an 
eighteenth-century  French  artist  as  a French  artist  of 
pure  race  and  type.”  Unlike  all  the  rest  of  the  men 
of  that  century  he  does  not  show  in  his  work  the  in- 
fluence of  the  fashions,  the  style,  the  modishness  of  the 
day.  He  portrays  not  pomp,  vanity  and  fashionable  court 
life,  or  its  imitations.  He  loves  better  the  simplicity  of 
quiet  home  life,  the  charm  of  domestic  joys.  Chardin, 
says  one  critic,  “ is  as  natural  as  a Dutchman,  and  as 
modern  as  Vollon.”  If  he  were  only  painting  still  life, 
he  somehow  always  got  the  human,  natural  note. 
“ Everything  that  he  touched  he  touched  with  feeling 
as  profound  as  it  was  personal.”  His  work  in  pastel  is 
as  distinguished  as  that  in  oil.  In  his  later  years  when 
his  eyes  were  failing  he  used  that  medium  a great  deal. 

There  are  a number  of  his  works  in  Salle  XVI.,  the 
most  popular  of  which  is  probably  The  Blessing.  It  is 
the  interior  of  a simple,  homely  dining-room.  Standing 
over  the  table  covered  with  one  of  the  white  cloths  that 
Chardin  could  paint  so  deliciously,  is  the  mother,  wearing 
a soft,  full-toned  brown  waist,  a blue  apron,  a white 
gathered  cap.  About  to  serve  the  soup,  she  pauses  to 
hear  the  grace  of  the  little  girl  seated  at  the  right  of 
the  table  in  a small  chair.  She  is  turned  almost  in  pro- 
file, and  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  her  mother,  has  her  tiny 
hands  clasped  in  prayer.  Her  dress  is  white,  a cap  of  rose 
on  her  head.  Behind  the  table  on  a high  chair  is  a 
smaller  child,  her  white  cap  gathered  up  with  a blue 
ribbon,  only  the  tips  of  her  fingers  appear  over  the 
edge  of  the  table  while  she  listens  to  the  prayer  of  her 
sister.  This  is  one  of  Chardin’s  most  popular  works 
and  it  shows  his  charm  of  colour,  composition  and 


Salle  Daru 


297 


simplicity  of  style.  Everything  in  it  is  painted  with  the 
great  care  and  extreme  fidelity  he  gave  all  his  works. 

The  Housekeeper  is  even  more  Dutch-like  in  its  treat- 
ment of  detail.  A servant-maid  stands  in  nearly  full  face, 
leaning  against  a dresser  with  her  arm  resting  upon  some 
loaves  of  bread  deposited  upon  the  table.  In  her  right 
hand,  dropped  at  her  side,  she  holds  a big  napkin  by 
its  corners  out  of  which  is  sticking  a leg  of  mutton. 
Her  cap  and  waist  are  white,  her  skirt  striped.  On  the 
ground  at  her  feet  are  two  big,  dark  glass  bottles,  and  at 
her  left  is  an  open  door  where  a yellow-gowned  maid 
is  seen  in  profile.  A huge  cask  with  spigot  and  tub 
under  it  is  just  within  the  door.  There  is  a half-merry, 
half-wistful  expression  on  the  square-faced  rather  Dutch- 
looking maid.  The  position,  solidity  of  figure,  and  the 
fresh,  unmixed  handling  of  colour  all  help  to  make  this 
a delightful  bit  of  genre. 

In  the  Busy  Mother  are  more  of  Chardin’s  marvellous 
tones  of  white.  The  mother,  seated  in  profile,  with  her 
high-heeled  slippers  straight  out  in  front  of  her,  is  ex- 
amining a piece  of  embroidery,  one  end  of  which  is  still 
held  by  the  small  daughter  who  is  standing  farther  back 
in  the  room,  in  three-quarters  view.  Tlie  mother’s  huge 
apron  which  almost  entirely  covers  her  is  white  as  is  also 
her  hood-like  cap  with  its  deep  cape.  The  sleeves  of  her 
dress  beneath  show  yellow  stripes  on  a white  ground. 
The  daughter  is  in  white,  too,  even  to  the  white  cap  on 
her  youthful  head.  At  the  left  in  front,  are  a small  chest 
and  a pug-dog.  In  front  of  the  mother  is  the  big  winder 
laden  with  the  woollen  yarn,  behind  is  a folding  green 
screen.  The  same  tender  sentiment,  care  for  slightest 
detail,  charm  of  soft,  mellow  tones,  natural  grace  and 
ease  of  workmanship  are  seen  in  this  as  in  the  Blessing. 
Ho  less  commendable  is  his  insistence  of  light  in  exactly 


298 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


the  right  place.  “ To  strike  true,  was  ” for  Chardin, 
“ the  fulfilment  of  his  highest  ambition.” 

Three  pictures  by  Nattier  in  this  salle  show  an  entirely 
different  sort  of  art.  Instead  of  homely  simplicity  there 
is  royal  luxuriance ; in  place  of  the  tender  poems  of 
domestic  life  there  is  the  coquetry  of  princess  and  court ; 
in  lieu  of  truth  of  colour  and  form,  there  are  manu- 
factured prettiness  and  unreal  flesh.  In  fact  Nattier 
belongs  as  truly  to  the  age  he  painted  as  does  Chardin 
to  all  humanity.  As  such  he  is  worthy  of  some  study, 
though  the  cult  Nattier  that  is  of  recent  growth  is  a diffi- 
cult thing  to  understand.  Nolhac  says  that  what  excuses 
Nattier’s  worst  faults  are  “ qualities  of  seduction,  of 
charm,  of  the  lightness  of  touch  and  sweetness  of 
enveloppe.”  All  royalty,  or  at  least  all  feminine  royalty 
sat  to  him  over  and  over  again.  It  was  doubtless  a great 
delight  to  find  that  no  matter  how  scurvily  nature  had 
treated  their  royal  persons,  Nattier’s  canvases  would 
portray  them  as  their  hearts  desired.  The  homeliest, 
dowdiest  royal  scion  became  under  his  brush  a nymph, 
a goddess  or  Muse,  with  lines  of  exquisite  curves  and 
eyes  of  lustrous  softness.  If  all  his  fair  dames  looked  a 
good  deal  as  if  their  complexions  had  been  supplied  by 
nature  en  gros,  it  was  nevertheless  too  charming  a con- 
coction to  bemoan  its  lack  of  variety.  Arsene  Alexandre 
says  of  his  pictures,  that  they  are  “ all,  of  course,  as  false, 
as  theatrical  as  one  can  well  imagine,  and  yet  somehow, 
entirely  unaffected  and  broadly  simple.”  And  at  least 
it  is  true  that  his  eye  for  harmony  was  remarkably  acute, 
and  his  colours  are  never  overstrong  or  garish.  Softest 
silks  and  satins,  laces,  embroideries,  furs,  those  are  what 
he  loves.  He  was  in  all  ways  a ty^pical  Frenchman,  with 
a lightness,  a sureness  of  touch,  a coquetry  and  always  a 
feminine  grace.  He  did  not  and  apparently  never  tried 


Salle  2)aru 


299 


to  portray  character  or  to  go  beneath  the  smooth  surface. 
The  portraits  have,  largely  in  consequence,  an  artificial 
air  and  between  them  all  there  is  a great  similarity.  His 
princesses  are  so  much  alike  that  it  is  often  difficult  to 
decide  who  is  who.  Of  all  his  many  portraits  the 
Louvre  possesses  very  few. 

The  Magdalene  which  is  in  this  room,  shows  her  sitting 
in  a grotto  through  whose  circular  opening  at  the  right, 
a view  of  hills,  cataract  and  houses  is  seen.  Leaning  her 
blond  head  on  her  left  hand,  the  elbow  resting  on  a rock 
beside  her,  she  holds  a book  in  her  lap.  Her  sandalled 
feet  are  stretched  straight  out  in  front  of  her  showing 
beneath  more  abundant  drapery  than  most  of  Nattier’s 
symbolical  portraits.  She  is  dressed  in  white  silk. 

Because  of  no  allegorical  significance  his  Portrait  of 
Adelaide,  daughter  of  Louis  XV.  is  a more  satisfactory 
canvas.  She  is  dressed  in  blue  velvet  and  sable  and  has 
“ a touch  of  dignified  formality.”  The  flesh-tones  are 
sweetly  soft,  but  the  portrait  really  has  a character  of 
its  own. 

The  Three  Graces  by  Natoire  who  was  a pupil  of  Le 
Moine  is  a fair  example  of  his  style.  His  drawing  was 
always  bad  and  his  chief  work  was  done  as  decorator. 
The  Graces  are  in  rather  unusual  positions.  One,  lying 
out  at  full  length  a little  on  her  left  side  has  raised  her- 
self somewhat  by  leaning  her  left  arm  on  the  bent  knee 
of  her  sister  who  is  sitting  at  her  head  almost  in  profile. 
The  third  is  lower  down  and  rests  back  to,  only  the 
upper  part  of  her  shoulders  and  arm  showing,  her  head 
turned  in  profile  looking  at  the  others.  The  three  are 
lifting  a part  of  the  garland  of  blooms  which  a small 
Cupid  at  the  left  is  holding  as  he  flies  toward  them.  The 
composition  and  placing  are  pleasing  and  well  balanced. 

Tocque,  son-in-law  of  Nattier,  studied  with  Rigaud, 


300 


Ube  Hrt  ot  tbe  OLouvre 


His  first  success  was  with  the  Portrait  of  the  Dauphin, 
Son  of  Louis  XV.,  which  is  now  in  this  room.  It  was 
painted  by  the  king’s  order  and  displays  him  standing  in 
his  study,  in  a red  suit  with  white  waistcoat  embroidered 
with  gold  and  with  the  Order  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  He  is 
turned  three-quarters  to  the  right,  and  wears  a powdered 
wig.  About  him  are  globes  and  geographical  charts. 
The  picture  as  a whole  reflects  something  of  the  colour 
of  Largilliere. 

Marie  Leczinska,  Queen  of  France  whom  Nattier 
painted  so  often,  is  a full  length  portrait.  The  hands 
and  drapery  are  especially  good  here,  and  are  full  of 
movement.  She  is  standing  in  a large  hall,  her  body 
turned  lightly  to  the  left  her  head  in  full  face.  Her 
dress  is  decollete,  over  her  shoulders  is  the  royal  velvet 
mantle  embroidered  with  the  fleurs-de-lis  of  France  and 
lined  with  ermine  which  she  is  holding  back  vdth  her 
hand.  At  her  left  on  a bracket  is  seen  the  crown,  resting 
on  a blue  cushion. 

Diana  at  the  Bath,  by  Boucher  is  one  of  that  painter’s 
most  important  and  beautiful  works.  At  the  foot  of 
a high  bank  Diana,  with  her  crescent  over  her  brow,  sits 
on  a lot  of  drapery  holding  a string  of  pearls,  one  leg 
thrown  lazily  over  the  other,  her  head  turned  in  profile 
to  a companion  who  is  seated  below  her,  leaning  over 
on  her  hands,  her  legs  drawn  up.  The  two  are  almost 
nude  and  there  is  a pastoral,  almost  virginal  charm  about 
the  picture  rarely  duplicated  in  his  work.  At  Diana’s 
left  by  her  bow  are  a string  of  birds  and  a rabbit  and 
at  the  pool  at  the  left  of  the  picture  a couple  of  dogs  are 
drinking.  The  flesh-tones  show  Boucher  at  his  best, 
with  none  of  the  coarsening,  deep  rose-colour  which 
designing  so  much  for  tapestry  and  his  ovm  careless- 
ness afterward  so  often  produced.  Tlie  figure  of  Diana 


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301 


is  exquisite  in  its  modelling,  the  firm,  delicate  lines 
wholly  lacking  that  sensuality  felt  in  most  of  his  female 
figures.  The  whole  thing  is  an  idyl  quite  in  keeping 
with  the  character  of  the  goddess.  It  has  been  said  that 
this  figure  of  Diana  and  some  others  that  Boucher 
painted  at  this  period  of  his  career,  in  the  suppleness  of 
their  limbs,  and  beautiful  curves  of  body,  suggest  a 
prototype  of  the  Odalisque  by  Ingres. 

Boucher  was  as  celebrated  for  his  Cupids  as  for  his 
nymphs  and  goddesses,  and  some  of  these  baby  gods  are 
very  marvels  of  infantile  grace  and  spirit.  In  The  Target 
are  a number  of  the  little  fellows  in  all  sorts  of  positions. 
Three  are  on  the  ground  with  their  quivers  of  arrows, 
one  tipping  up  a big  jar  of  water,  while  above  in  the 
air  more  of  them  are  holding  up  a target  which  has  a 
heart  placed  in  the  middle  of  it.  Still  higher  in  air 
another  small  baby  lifts  two  wreaths  of  laurel  far  over 
his  head. 

Boucher  was  above  all  things  else  a decorator.  Every- 
thing he  did  had  this  decorative  quality,  though  toward 
the  end  of  his  life  he  lost  even  the  ability  to  decorate 
well.  He  has  been  considered  the  most  immoral,  posi- 
tively scandalous  painter,  accused  of  using  his  brush 
only  to  taint  the  very  eyes  of  the  young.  The  truth  is 
that  he  was  as  Mantz  quotes  from  Emerson,  “ a represen- 
tative man.”  If  ever  a painter  expressed  the  very  essence 
of  the  spirit  of  his  times  it  was  Boucher.  The  days  of  the 
Grand  Monarch  had  gone  and  all  Erance  was  revelling 
in  the  freedom,  the  charm,  the  gaiety  of  the  new  reign 
that  sought  first,  last  and  always,  pleasure.  Inconstancy, 
immorality,  a light  disregard  of  the  claims  of  virtue  and 
honour,  a joy  in  all  sorts  of  questionable  love-affairs,  a 
frank  abandon  to  the  pleasures  of  the  senses,  that  was 
the  actual  state  of  the  society  in  which  Boucher  found 


302 


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himself.  If  his  canvases  reflect  the  spirit  of  these  days, 
it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at.  And  on  the  whole,  he  has 
not  made  them  more  debased  than  they  were.  Says  i\I. 
Michel,  however,  “ Boucher  represents  but  one  side  of 
his  epoch.  He  does  not  equal  Watteau  nor  Chardin.  He 
is  exclusively  and  par  excellence  the  painter  of  Louis  XV. 
and  of  the  Pompadour.”  M.  Michel  also  says  that  up  to 
his  time  France  had  never  seen  the  feminine  form  so 
marvellously  portrayed.  He  painted  Venus,  the  Graces, 
Psyche,  Diana,  all  or  any  of  the  goddesses  simply  to 
show  the  exquisite  lines  and  curves  and  modelling,  and 
the  ravishing  colour  and  poses  of  woman.  It  is  love, 
sensual,  fleshly,  physical  love  that  his  brush  is  ever  busy 
depicting.  But  at  least  it  is  seldom  brutal  or  disgusting. 
Over  the  frankest  and  most  undisguised  of  love-scenes 
there  is  a gay  lightness,  and  a soft  beauty  of  colour  that 
redeems  them  from  the  charge  of  grossness.  This,  how- 
ever, is  Boucher  in  his  early  life  and  at  his  best.  Long 
before  his  career  was  ended  his  works  showed  a degra- 
dation of  taste,  a bad  colour,  poor  design  and  futile 
expression. 

Between  Boucher,  the  representative  of  the  day  of 
frivolous  sensuality  and  David,  the  leader  of  the  reign 
of  the  coldly  classic,  came  Greuze,  who  also  represents 
a distinct  epoch  in  French  art  and  life.  It  is  this  perhaps 
that  has  preserved  him  to  posterity  as  much  as  the  pretty 
porcelain  tones  of  his  young  girls  and  children.  He 
seems  to  have  had  no  example  to  follow  except  his  own 
desires.  He  turned  as  naturally  to  scenes  of  bourgeois 
life  and  to  the  painting  of  young  girls  as  Boucher  turned 
to  lawless  nymphs  and  satyrs  or  Watteau  to  fkes  gal- 
lantcs.  And  because  of  his  subjects  he  became  the  rage 
of  his  time.  Innocence,  purity,  all  the  homely  virtues 
were  found  in  his  works.  If  to-day  it  all  seems  mostly 


Salle  Daru 


303 


a pose,  and  always  artificial,  it  is  only  necessary  to  re- 
member that  life  was  all  artificial  then,  and  the  aristo- 
cratic attention  and  care  for  the  humble  class  the  most 
artificial  of  all.  Till  the  Revolution  Greuze  kept  his  popu- 
larity, but  after  that  was  over  the  taste  for  his  pictures 
was  gone  and  though  he  worked  till  he  was  past  eighty, 
he  died  poor,  neglected,  destitute.  When  Napoleon 
heard  of  his  death  he  is  reported  to  have  exclaimed, 
“ Dead  ! Poor  and  neglected  ! Why  did  he  not  speak  ? 
I would  have  gladly  given  him  a pitcher  of  Sevres 
filled  with  gold  for  every  copy  ever  made  of  his  Broken 
Pitcher ! ” 

This  Broken  Pitcher  hangs  in  Salle  XVI.  and  is  prob- 
ably the  most  popular  and  best  known  of  all  his  works. 
It  is  not,  however,  on  nearly  so  high  a plane  as  his 
portrait  of  Fabre  Eglantine  or  the  portrait  of  himself. 
Nevertheless,  it  has  in  abundance  the  characteristics  that 
go  to  make  it  one  of  his  most  pleasing  pictures  of  bud- 
ding girlhood.  The  maiden  stands  facing  the  spectator, 
on  her  arm  the  jug  with  its  broken  side,  both  dimpled 
hands  holding  up  her  apron  which  is  full  of  flowers. 
She  is  dressed  in  white  with  a gauzy  scarf  tied  loosely 
about  her  bare  neck  and  so  falling  that  it  does  not  at  all 
cover  the  bust  from  which  also  the  corsage  has  slipped. 
Her  soft  chestnut  hair  is  parted  in  the  middle  and  wound 
about  with  a violet  ribbon  tying  a bunch  of  blossoms 
over  her  ear.  Behind  her  at  the  right  is  the  fountain 
against  which  she  has  evidently  broken  her  pitcher.  She 
is  demure,  rather  than  penitent,  wondering  dreamily  how 
the  accident  happened  rather  than  bemoaning  her  mis- 
hap. The  bloom  of  her  face,  the  lustrousness  of  her 
eyes,  the  C'upid-bow  curves  to  the  soft  red  lips,  all  are 
part  of  the  charms  which  Greuze  threw  over  his  pictures 
of  young  maidenhood. 


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Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


The  Milkmaid,  hanging  as  pendant  to  this,  might  almost 
be  the  same  girl  a few  years  older.  She  stands  by  her 
brown  basket-laden  horse  one  arm  thrown  over  his  neck 
and  the  other  holding  a tin  dipper  and  the  cloak  which 
is  slipping  down.  She  has  tipped  her  head  coquettishly  to 
one  side  and  looks  out  from  under  her  white  cap  with  a 
bewitching  gentleness.  The  white  dress  has  much  of  the 
dirty  gray  tone  Greuze  could  not  help  getting,  and  the 
drawing,  especially  of  the  left  hand  and  arm  is,  as  often, 
not  impeccable.  But  charm  it  has  of  the  kind  that  makes 
one  understand  how  it  has  retained  its  popularity  for  a 
century  and  a half. 

Another  well-known  canvas  is  his  Study  of  a Young 
Girl’s  Head.  She  has  the  usual  open  chemisette  which 
allows  one  breast  to  be  seen.  Her  head  is  turned  to  her 
left  in  three-quarters  view,  and  is  slightly  lifted  while 
her  eyes  are  raised  heavenward.  Her  mouth  is  partly 
open,  giving  a glimpse  of  a row  of  white  teeth.  Here  are 
the  soft  translucent  colouring,  the  exquisite  blending  of 
hair  against  the  temples,  the  swimming  azure  eyes,  the 
fresh,  dewy  lips,  the  little  chin  that  Greuze  so  loved  to 
paint.  Though  she  is  evidently  in  sorrow,  with  the  tears 
half-falling  from  her  suffused  eyes,  it  is  a very  fetching 
sort  of  weeping.  It  does  not  make  the  eyelids  nor  the 
nose  red,  and  on  the  whole  it  seems  more  becoming  than 
smiling.  And  perhaps  this  very  thing  is  as  good  an 
example  as  any  to  show  how  even  in  his  best  works, 
Greuze  was  far  from  dealing  with  truth  and  reality. 

The  Village  Bride  is  one  of  the  pictures  Diderot’s  pen 
raved  about  in  a kind  of  frenzy  that  seems  positively 
funny  to  us  to-day.  We  are  much  more  conscious  of 
the  faults  which  De  Goncourt  summarizes  as  “ inhar- 
monious colours,  discord  of  tones,  glittering  of  lights.” 
Greuze  is  never  worse  than  in  large  compositions  such 


Salle  Daru 


305 


as  this  one.  The  Paternal  Curse  and  the  Punished  Son. 
This  too,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  had  a real  deftness  in 
massing  his  subjects,  and  always  succeeded  in  keeping 
a central  unity  that  added  greatly  to  the  dramatic  interest. 
Nevertheless,  it  is  in  these  scenes  that  his  hardness  of 
drapery,  his  blackness  and  opaqueness  of  shadow,  his 
ineffectual  drawing,  his  continual  use  of  a type  instead 
of  individuals,  and  above  all  his  mawkish  sentimentality, 
his  theatricalness  and  his  commonplaceness  are  always 
most  in  evidence. 

The  Music  Lesson  and  The  Sacrifice  of  the  High 
Priest  Coresus  to  Save  Callirhoe,  by  Fragonard,  both 
hang  in  this  room.  Of  these  the  Music  Lesson  is  much 
the  better.  At  a harpsichord  seated  in  profile  is  a young, 
light-haired  girl  with  piquant,  retrousse  nose,  dressed  in 
a robe  of  blue  satin,  and  playing  from  a sheet  of  music 
before  her.  Leaning  toward  her,  face  to  the  spectator, 
with  one  hand  on  the  back  of  her  chair  and  the  other  on 
the  music  page,  is  the  young  music-teacher,  dressed  in 
black  even  to  the  black  cap  on  his  head.  His  gaze  is  bent 
on  her  hands  while  hers  is  strictly  on  the  music.  There  is 
a subtle,  indefinable  air  of  romance  about  the  two  as 
charming  as  it  is  indefinite.  On  a chair  in  front  where 
lie  some  music  and  a mandolin  is  also  a big-eyed  pussy. 
This  is  one  of  the  delightfully  simple,  natural  subjects 
full  of  ingenuous  coquetry  that  Fragonard  so  often 
painted.  Simple,  light  in  subject  and  in  the  manner  of 
treatment,  it  has  a grace  and  quiet  charm  of  its  own. 

Much  more  elaborate,  not  to  say  theatric  is  the  his- 
torical composition.  On  the  steps  of  an  altar,  between 
heavy  pillars,  Callirhoe,  breast  and  arms  bare,  has  fallen 
among  her  white  draperies,  overcome  with  the  terrible 
strain.  The  priest  who  will  save  her  because  of  his  love 
for  her,  stands  at  her  head  and  has  just  thrust  the  dagger 


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XLbc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


into  his  heart.  A crowd  of  affrighted  women  are  at  the 
left  and  behind  them  are  aged  priests.  Above,  among  the 
clouds  of  incense  fly  two  symbolical  figures.  Callirhoe 
is  very  beautiful,  if  her  utter  collapse  seems  a trifle 
forced.  The  young  priest  is  equally  beautiful,  and  even 
more  theatric  in  his  pose.  The  critics  of  the  time  when 
the  picture  was  exposed  at  Fragonard’s  first  salon,  com- 
plained that  he  lacked  masculinity.  It  was  his  first  bow 
to  the  French  public  after  his  return  from  Rome,  and 
even  at  that  day  the  cry  of  too  much  theatricalness  was 
made.  Still,  as  a composition  it  has  power,  the  focusing 
of  the  light  is  penetrating  and  thrilling  and  the  colour 
vivid,  if  theatrically  realistic. 

Jean  Fragonard,  who  was  a pupil  of  Boucher,  was 
lighter,  daintier,  more  exquisite  than  his  master.  H,e 
painted  every  kind  of  subject,  religious,  historic,  mytho- 
logic,  domestic  scenes,  pastorals,  decorations,  country 
scenes,  vignettes,  and  he  did  them  in  every  known 
medium.  M.  Blanc  says  that  in  Fragonard  one  can  see 
the  follies  and  elegancies  of  Watteau,  the  loves  and  de- 
baucheries of  Boucher,  the  honest  simplicity  of  Chardin, 
the  morality  of  Greuze,  and  that  indeed  he  is  an  epitome 
of  his  entire  century  “ for,  his  first  works  are  dedicated 
to  love  and  his  last  to  his  country.”  He  painted  only 
when  he  felt  inspired.  He  held  a brush  it  is  said  before 
he  could  draw  a line,  and  took  the  “ Grand  Prix  de 
Peinture  ” before  he  was  admitted  to  the  academy  courses 
of  instruction.  His  portraits  are  a good  deal  in  the  man- 
ner of  Tiepolo,  the  one  Italian  painter  whom  he  passion- 
ately admired.  He  painted  flesh  with  an  exquisite  value, 
though  he  was  very  often  careless  as  to  the  rendering 
of  form.  With  Natoire,  Van  Loo  and  Boucher,  Fra- 
gonard’s work  shows  tremendous  inequality.  Sometimes 
it  is  magnificently  finished,  perfect  and  charming.  Then 


Salle  2)artt 


307 


it  is  slight,  unfinished,  ineffectual.  There  is  with  all  of 
them,  apparently,  a total  lack  of  conscientiousness.  If 
they  chose  they  could  draw  with  great  distinction,  if  they 
did  not  choose  they  did  not  even  try.  The  result  is  that  in 
almost  all  they  did  is  found  a spontaneity  and  a certain 
quality  of  life.  Fragonard’s  pencil  is  always  spirited 
if  it  is  often  slovenly.  De  Goncourt  says  that  Fragonard’s 
painting  is  a dream,  the  dream  of  a man  asleep  in  a box 
at  the  opera. 

Charles  Andre  Van  Loo  who  was  contemporary  with 
Boucher  has  several  canvases  in  this  room.  Of  them  all 
the  Halt  is  the  only  one  of  real  merit,  though  the  Portrait 
of  Marie  Leczinska  was  a great  success  in  its  day. 

The  Halt  was  painted  for  the  private  apartments  at 
Fontainebleau  in  1737  and  it  has  both  charm  and  origi- 
nality. In  it  a company  of  gallants  and  ladies  have  rested 
for  a repast  under  the  trees  during  a hunt.  Spread  out 
on  the  ground  in  the  centre  of  the  composition  is  the 
luncheon,  and  STirrounding  it  are  the  young  nobles  and 
ladies  in  the  gayest  of  gay  apparel.  A little  at  the  left 
one  maiden  is  being  served  and  entertained  by  a youthful 
chevalier  who  sits  at  her  right.  Others  are  talking  with 
or  helping  others,  while  at  the  right  with  legs  stretched 
out  straight  before  him  oblivious  of  every  one  else  is  a 
young  man  who  is  reaching  for  a bottle  of  wine.  Coupled 
beside  him  are  two  well-drawn  dogs.  A richly  capari- 
soned mule  is  being  groomed  by  a huntsman,  and  other 
horses  are  beyond  the  feast.  Everywhere  is  indicated 
a gallant  homage  toward  the  young  damsels  of  the  party. 
The  colouring  is  pleasant,  arrangement  and  composition 
good,  the  green  of  the  landscape  a trifle  blue,  but  the 
effect  of  light  and  the  luminosity  of  the  whole  agreeable. 

Van  Loo  really  had  more  solid  attributes  than  Boucher. 
Both  he  and  his  brother  Jean-Baptist,  showed  traces  in 


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ttbe  Hrt  ot  tbe  Xouvre 


their  work  and  characters  of  the  Dutch  blood  which  they 
inherited  from  their  grandfather.  Charles  Andre,  or 
Carle  as  he  was  called,  was  always  successful.  He  had 
much  more  facility  and  fire  than  the  other  members  of 
the  family,  three  or  four  of  whom  were  also  painters.  In 
spite  of  his  popularity,  when  the  pseudo-classic  revival 
was  in  full  swing,  he  instead  of  Boucher  was  held  prin- 
cipally responsible  for  the  bad  taste  and  “ extravagance  ” 
of  tbe  followers  of  these  two.  “ ‘ Vanloter  ’ in  those  days 
was  the  synonym  for  careless  drawing  and  riotous 
colour.”  Nevertheless  Carle  at  times  painted  with  great 
verve  and  if  he  had  not  chosen  to  confine  his  attention 
mostly  to  “ serious  ” subjects,  he  might  have  been  a vivid 
if  not  poetic  portrayer  of  the  life  of  his  own  times. 

Tlie  Louvre  has  works  by  the  three  Vernets  who  were 
grandfather,  son,  and  grandson.  Even  the  grandfather, 
Claude-Joseph  was  the  son  of  a painter  so  that  the  line 
of  artists  in  the  family  was  unbroken  for  four  genera- 
tions. Claude,  besides  his  great  seaports  that  are  all  in 
the  Musee  de  Marine,  has  a good  many  canvases  in  Salle 
XVI.  He  may  be  considered  to  have  made  a real  advance 
and  innovation  in  art.  He  studied  directly  from  nature, 
and  though  many  of  his  canvases  seem  now  to  have  been 
painted  by  receipt,  he  did  at  least  make  a valiant  attempt 
to  copy  what  he  actually  saw.  He  has  been  called  the  pre- 
cursor of  the  English  romantic  school,  and  it  has  even 
been  said  his  influence  can  be  felt  in  Corot.  It  was  in  his 
later  years  that  the  commission  to  paint  all  the  seaports 
of  France  was  given  him  by  the  Marquis  de  IMarigny  who 
was  the  director  of  fine  arts.  These  immense  canvases 
do  not  greatly  add  to  his  fame.  His  best  work  was  done 
when  he  was  still  in  Italy  and  before  the  demand  for  his 
pictures  had  become  so  great  that  he  was  forced  in  his 
attempt  to  supply  that  demand  into  doing  very  inferior 


Salle  Barn 


309 


work.  Lady  Dilke  says  of  him  that  “He  had  just  that 
touch  of  scenic  manner  which  pleased  his  public,  and  in 
spite  of  his  theatrical  planes  and  theatrical  illumination 
and  other  conventions  which  are  now  out  of  date,  there  is 
an  element  of  healthy  strength  in  his  work  which  shows 
much  honest  observation  of  nature.”  Nevertheless,  he 
did  not  see  landscape  at  all  as  moderns  do,  and  to  our 
mind  Poussin  was  a truer  interpreter. 

Most  of  David’s  works  are  in  Salle  VIII.,  but  a few  are 
to  be  found  here,  among  them  the  sketch  for  the  Oath 
of  the  Horatii,  a composition  that  was  ordered  by  Louis 
XVI.  in  1784  and  was  the  painting  that  gave  him  the 
supremacy  in  the  art  of  France.  Belisarius  Asking  Alms 
for  the  victims  of  the  plague,  was  the  picture  that  made 
him  “ agree  ” of  the  Academy,  though  the  one  in  this 
room  is  a replica  of  the  original. 

David  was  Boucher’s  nephew  and  it  was  David  who 
really  swept  away  the  immorality,  indecency  and  care- 
lessness of  Boucher  and  Van  Loo.  He  and  his  followers 
confined  art  to  the  few  and  educated.  They  insisted  upon 
great  culture  and  study  and  barred  to  the  approach  of 
art  all  except  those  willing  to  conform  to  its  rules  and 
vmrthy  to  represent  them.  While  therefore  it  gained  in 
some  respects,  it  lost  heavily  in  others.  “ Outline,  draw- 
ing and  composition  were  the  chief  characteristics  of  the 
classic  school.”  Colour  was  of  slight  consequence  and 
was  just  as  good  if  entirely  of  a neutral  tone.  There  was 
no  real  painting  of  landscape  allowed,  and  some  went 
so  far  as  to  detach  figures  from  the  background  simply 
by  flat  tones.  Emotion,  even  ideally  spiritual  emotion, 
was  entirely  ignored.  “ It  is  the  body  without  action, 
the  human  frame  simply  clothed  with  flesh,  contours  in 
majestic  lines.”  Never  “based  on  nature,”  it  excluded 
“ all  individuality,  all  development,  all  novelty.” 


310 


XEbe  Hrt  ot  tbe  Xouvre 


David  himself  was  a sculptor-painter  rather  than  a 
painter.  His  figures  have  fine  contour  and  exact  anatomy, 
suggesting  studies,  however,  from  the  antique  rather  than 
from  living  beings,  smooth,  even  modelling  with  the 
coldness  and  hardness  of  marble,  flesh  that  one  could 
chisel,  but  not  press,  colour  as  far  removed  from  the 
pulsing  tones  of  the  human  body  as  black  from  white. 
In  his  compositions  he  is  never  influenced  by  Christianity. 
All  his  subjects  are  taken  from  Greek  or  Roman  histor}-. 
In  general  it  may  be  said  that  it  is  only  in  his  portraits 
that  David  shows  any  real  humanity  in  type,  character  or 
expression. 

Peace  Restoring  Abundance  by  Madame  Vigee-Le  Brun 
was  the  work  by  which  she  was  received  into  the  Acad- 
emy. It  shows  the  figure  of  Abundance  gently  led  for- 
ward by  the  more  ample  and  majestic  form  of  Peace. 
Abundance  is  a charming  blond  maiden  with  a piquant 
face,  turned  in  profile  up  to  Peace  who  is  looking  down  at 
her.  Her  golden  hair  is  bound  about  with  flowers,  her 
white  robe  with  its  yellow  over-robe  has  slipped  partly  off 
leaving  her  neck  and  left  breast  and  arm  bare.  In  her 
outstretched  right  hand  she  holds  a bunch  of  wheat  and 
bluets.  With  the  other  she  has  tipped  up  a horn  of 
plenty  out  of  which  fruit  and  flowers  are  pouring.  Peace, 
whose  blue  mantle  is  flying  behind  her  as  if  the  wind 
had  caught  and  shaken  it,  is  dressed  in  lilac.  She  is 
crowned  with  laurel,  and  in  her  right  hand,  resting  on 
the  shoulder  of  Abundance,  is  a laurel  sprig  with  berries. 
In  this  picture  it  is  easy  to  see  the  faults  of  the  age, 
but  it  has  nevertheless  a freshness  and  softness  of 
colour  and  a careful  handling  of  stuffs. 

Madame  Vigee-Le  Brun  was  all  her  life  feted,  petted, 
admired.  She  was  beautiful,  intelligent,  charming.  At 
fifteen  she  painted  admirable  portraits  and  at  twenty- 


Salle  2)aru 


3” 


eight  she  was  received  into  the  Academy.  She  studied 
with  Doyen,  Greuze  and  Vernet.  In  her  colour  there  is 
something  of  the  soft  bloom  and  delicate  tones  and 
affected  prettiness  of  Greuze,  but  she  uses  them,  one  is 
tempted  to  say,  more  legitimately.  She  lacks  force,  power, 
— in  a word,  virility.  But  there  is  such  an  undoubted 
charm  to  her  works,  and  so  much  transparent  and  fresh 
colour,  that  her  pedantry,  her  entire  absorption  in  the 
eighteenth-century  principles  of  art,  her  overattention  to 
costumes,  stuffs  and  classical  lines,  are  forgotten  in  ad- 
miration of  the  very  real  beauties  which  her  canvases 
show. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


SALLES  HENRI  11.  AND  DES  SEPT  CHEMINEES  — ROOMS 
II.  AND  III.  — FRENCH  SCHOOL 

These  two  rooms  contain  French  pictures  of  the  end 
of  the  eighteenth  and  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
Salle  Henri  II.  is  badly  lighted  and  even  the  important 
pictures,  of  which  there  are  few,  cannot  be  well  seen. 

In  Salle  des  Sept  Cheminees  are  most  of  the  more 
noted  works  of  David.  Of  these  the  Coronation  of 
Napoleon  is  generally  considered  his  masterpiece.  There 
are  real  force  in  the  lines,  character  and  reality  in  the 
faces,  which  are  all  excellent  portraits,  and  even  the 
colouring  in  parts  is  magnificent.  The  Coronation  was  at 
Notre  Dame  on  December  2,  1804. 

David  chose  the  instant  when  Napoleon,  taking  the 
crown  from  the  Due  de  Berg,  who  presented  it  on  a 
velvet  cushion,  was  about  placing  it  on  the  head  of  the 
empress.  She  kneels  at  his  feet  clad  in  a white  robe  and 
crimson  and  gold  mantle,  her  immense  train  lifted  by  the 
maids  of  honour,  behind  her.  All  the  people  present  are, 
as  has  been  stated,  portraits,  and  David  himself  is  seen 
on  a platform  sketching  at  a small  table.  The  emperor  is 
in  the  robes  of  state,  with  a laurel  wreath  on  his  brow. 
He  stands  with  arms  upraised,  in  profile,  holding  the 
crown,  and  it  is  a really  wonderful  likeness.  The  em- 
press is  also  in  profile,  as  she  kneels  with  clasped  hands 

312 


Salle  Ibend  Hfl 


313 


and  bent  head.  Behind  the  two,  Pope  Pius  VII.  is 
seated,  his  fingers  lifted  in  blessing.  He  is  a striking 
figure,  and  his  face  is  full  of  intense  life.  About  him  are 
the  clergy,  beside  him  Cardinal  Fesch.  At  the  left  of 
the  emperor  stand  a crowd  of  notables  and  dignitaries 
and  behind  and  at  his  side  his  brothers  and  sisters. 
Back  upon  the  platform  are  other  dignitaries  and  in  a 
tribune  above  the  empress  at  the  left,  the  mother  of  the 
emperor  with  her  suite. 

As  an  historical  picture  it  is  really  great.  It  has  a 
shimmering,  effective  light,  a noble  colouring.  The 
white  robes  and  deep-toned  crimsons  and  feds  of  mantles 
with  the  golden  embroideries  are  as  a critic  has  well 
said  fairly  “ organ-like  ” in  their  tonal  effect.  When  it 
was  finished  Napoleon  went  to  David’s  studio  and  with 
the  empress  and  suite  walked  up  and  down  before  it  for 
half  an  hour.  Then,  turning  to  the  painter,  and  lifting 
his  hat  in  his  theatrical  style,  he  said  “ C’est  bien,  ires 
bien;  David,  je  vans  sahie.” 

The  Rape  of  the  Sabines  is  an  earlier  canvas  and  it 
is  interesting  to  see  how  very  differently  David  and 
Poussin  have  treated  the  same  subject.  David’s  is  as 
classical,  much  better  massed  with  no  bad  spotting,  and 
no  distribution  of  climax.  The  eye  is  carried  at  once 
to  the  centre  of  interest  and  is  led  gradually  and  by 
proper  methods  from  point  to  point.  It  produces  a really 
strong  impression,  even  if  individual  positions  are  forced 
and  blatantly  posed. 

Romulus  stands  in  the  centre,  in  profile,  his  shield  on 
his  arm,  his  right  arm  raised,  poising  his  spear  against 
Titus  Tatius  who  is  parrying  the  attack  on  the  left  of  the 
picture.  He  holds  his  sword  down,  his  right  arm  with 
its  shield  raised  high.  Between  these  two  springs  the 
wife  of  Romulus,  Hersilca,  with  her  arms  outspread. 


314 


Zbc  Hrt  of  tbe  !lLouvre 


Near  her  many  mothers  are  on  their  knees  protecting  their 
children,  and  behind  them  stands  a woman  on  a pedestal 
holding  her  child  aloft  in  her  arms.  The  background  is 
filled  with  the  two  armies.  At  the  right  are  the  Roman 
standards,  and  everywhere  horses  rear  and  plunge  and 
over  all  is  a feeling  of  rushing  combat,  hurt,  however, 
by  the  posing  attitudes  of  the  principals  in  front.  Some 
of  the  women  express  real  despair,  but  the  men  are 
softened  almost  to  the  point  of  losing  their  sex.  Romulus 
looks  like  a woman  and  Titus  moves  like  one.  The 
action  is  poor,  they  appear  merely  posing  for  their  picture. 
The  colouring  is  less  unsatisfactory  than  in  some  of 
David’s  classical  pictures. 

Leonidas  at  the  Pass  of  the  Thermopylae  is  one  of 
the  series  intended  to  decorate  the  Louvre,  their  sub- 
jects furnishing  historical  parallels  to  Napoleon’s  great- 
ness. 

The  Portrait  of  Pope  Pius  VII.  is  a vigorous  likeness 
and  shows  David’s  talent  in  this  direction.  He  is  seated 
on  a large  chair  turned  three-quarters  to  the  left,  holding 
a letter  in  his  hand. 

The  Portrait  of  David  as  a youth  is  only  a sketch.  He 
is  sitting  in  full  face,  holding  his  palette  in  his  left  hand, 
a brush  in  his  right,  and  is  apparently  looking  in  a glass. 
He  wears  a gray  redingote  with  large  red  collar  and 
cuffs  and  white  cravat.  For  David  this  is  roughly 
executed  but  it  has  reality  and  even  charm  in  the  wistful 
eyes  and  rather  mournful  mouth. 

The  Portrait  of  Madame  Recamier,  left  incomplete  by 
David,  was  afterward  finished  by  a pupil  of  his.  The 
noted  beauty  is  sitting  with  her  feet  straight  out  in  front, 
face  turned  three-quarters  to  the  spectator,  her  hair  tied 
up  on  the  top  of  her  head.  She  is  dressed  in  white  in  a 
gown  as  simple  as  her  surroundings  and  in  spite  of  a cer- 


Salle  Ibenrl  HH 


315 

tain  rigidity  and  an  entire  absence  of  the  feeling  of 
actual  flesh,  it  is  rarely  beautiful  painting.  There  are 
a severity  of  design  and  a total  lack  of  ornament  in 
the  surroundings  in  the  room,  the  background  being 
an  absolutely  plain  surface,  unbroken  except  for  a tall 
bronze  lamp  at  the  head  of  the  couch.  Madame  Recamier 
herself  liked  the  picture  so  little  after  David  had  it 
well  started  that  she  refused  to  sit  any  more. 

Madame  Vigee-Le  Brun  has  two  portraits  in  Salle  III., 
one  of  herself  with  her  daughter  on  her  knees  and  the 
other  of  Madame  Mole  Raymond,  an  actress  of  the 
Comedie-Frangaise.  This  latter  is  one  of  the  most  pop- 
ular as  it  is  also  one  of  the  very  best  of  the  painter’s 
portraits.  It  is  often  called  The  Girl  with  the  Muff.  One 
of  the  objections  that  M.  Fillet  urges  against  this  popular 
approval  is  that  it  is  too  full  of  motion  properly  to 
fulfil  the  requirements  of  a portrait.  He  claims  that 
in  its  overgreat  animation  it  loses  the  dignity  and  poise 
and  serenity  necessary  to  keep  a portrait  from  annoying 
and  finally  tiring  the  spectator.  And  indeed  there  seems 
almost  enough  action  in  the  figure  of  this  young  girl 
to  carry  her  right  out  of  the  picture.  She  is  apparently 
walking  forward  with  a briskness  that  sends  her  long 
curling  hair  and  scarf  flying  out  in  streamers  behind  her. 
Her  figure  is  in  profile  but  she  has  turned  her  face  till 
it  is  three-quarters  full.  It  is  a rather  wide,  short  face, 
with  large  eyes  far  apart  and  a laughing  mouth  exposing 
her  white  teeth.  One  suspects  that  were  it  not  for  the 
witchery  of  Madame  Le  Brun’s  brush,  Madame  Raymond 
would  not  seem  quite  the  beautiful  creature  she  does. 
The  huge  muff  which  has  given  its  name  to  the  picture 
she  is  holding  up  with  both  hands  buried  in  its  depths. 
Her  dress  is  violet,  her  hat  and  waist  blue,  the  fichu  over 
her  shoulders  white.  The  big  hat  with  its  side  caught  up 


3i6 


Zbc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


by  a rosette,  and  the  flying  feather  add  to  the  coquetry 
of  the  picture.  Madame  Le  Brun  has  used  her  brush 
here  with  a full,  firm  and  yet  soft  stroke.  There  is  a 
certain  lack  of  freedom  but  there  is  a decided  and  most 
fetching  “ go  ” to  the  whole  thing. 

In  this  room  as  well  as  in  Salle  VIII.  are  a number  of 
paintings  by  Prud’hon,  the  man  who  was  scorned  by 
David  as  being  hardly  better  than  Boucher  and  who 
to  us  of  to-day  represents  the  true  classic  spirit  to  an 
extent  undreamed  of  by  the  founder  of  the  pseudo-classic 
school  of  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century.  It  was 
not  till  he  was  well  on  in  middle  life  however,  that  his 
public  began  to  appreciate  the  gaiety  and  delicacy  of  his 
choice  spirit.  He  really  was  the  first  painter  since 
the  Rococo  days  to  feel  at  all  the  beauty  of  colour,  and 
his  pencil  besides  was  as  true,  as  firm,  as  sure  as  David’s 
own  and  had  a life,  a grace,  an  esprit  that  that  cold,  stiff 
copyist  never  began  to  acquire.  Two  influences  show 
themselves  strongest  in  Prud’hon’s  life  and  work. 
Always  he  was  greatly  influenced  by  women,  first  by 
his  mother,  then  by  the  woman  he  so  unhappily  married 
and  finally  by  IMlle.  Mayer,  “ his  best-loved  ” pupil, 
who  became  the  mother  to  his  neglected  children 
and  the  guide  and  inspiration  of  his  life,  to  whose  de- 
votion and  intelligence  he  owed  really  most  of  the  late 
applause  and  appreciation  of  his  work.  In  his  art  it 
was  Leonardo  to  whom  he  was  most  indebted.  He  used 
to  say  that  this  wizard  of  the  Renaissance  was  his 
adored,  his  master,  his  everything  in  one  and  he  com- 
pared Raphael  to  him  much  to  the  Urbinate’s  disadvan- 
tage. Prud’hon’s  women  have  the  mysterious,  veiled 
smile,  the  dreamy,  inscrutable  eyes,  the  alluring  not-to-be- 
tabulated  womanly  charm  that,  recalling  as  they  do  the 
great  Italian  have  become  so  impregnated  with  the  talent 


Salle  Ibend  nil. 


317 

of  Prud’hon  that  they  are  no  longer  Italian,  but  thor- 
oughly French.  There  is  a coquetry,  a bewitching  aban- 
donment in  all  his  pictures  of  women,  and  almost  always 
too,  there  is  a half-suggested  melancholy,  something 
indeed  that  has  been  felt  by  many  critics  in  all  of 
Prud’hon’s  works,  in  spite  of  their  gaiety,  delight  and 
witchery. 

In  the  Portrait  of  Madame  Jarre  in  Salle  III.,  there 
are  almost  all  these  attributes  though  she  is  not  the 
most  distinguished  of  his  feminine  portraits.  She  is 
painted  on  an  oval  canvas,  seated  turning  three-quarters 
to  the  right,  but  with  her  face  in  full  view..  Her  large 
dark  eyes  look  out  from  under  level  brows,  above  which 
the  full  waved  hair  is  parted  in  the  middle.  The  mouth 
is  exquisitely  drawn,  the  curves  not  quite  ending  in  a 
smile.  She  is  dressed  in  a white  empire  gown,  banded 
with  gold,  across  her  shoulders  a red  shawl  and  in  her 
hair  a wreath  of  daisies  and  wheat. 

Justice  and  Vengeance  Pursuing  Crime,  was  ordered 
for  the  Palais  de  Justice  and  kept  there  till  the  time 
of  the  Restoration  when  it  was  sent  to  the  Louvre. 
Prud’hon  made  a number  of  sketches  for  this  and  all 
of  them  differ  from  the  completed  work.  It  is  said  he 
finished  this  last  in  six  months.  It  is  universally  regarded 
as  one  of  the  very  great  pictures  of  French  art,  and 
French  critics  have  not  hesitated  to  call  it  one  of  the  chief 
gems  of  all  art.  Here  is,  at  all  events,  the  veritable  sub- 
limation of  the  classic.  A'  humanizing  yet  idealizing 
process  seems  to  envelop  this  whole  picture,  so  that 
the  subject,  which  might  have  been  chosen  by  David  or 
by  Ingres,  becomes,  under  Prud’hon’s  magic  brush  a most 
powerfully  dramatic  tragedy  that  grips  the  consciousness 
of  all  time. 

The  scene  takes  place  in  a wild,  rugged  spot,  with 


3i8  Hrt  ot  tbe  Xouvre 

huge  rocks  piling  high  against  the  dark  clouds  through 
which  the  moon  breaks  pallidly.  This  cold  clarity  lights 
into  broad  masses  the  figures  of  the  composition.  On 
the  ground,  flung  over  backwards  on  to  a rock,  his  arms 
far  outstretched,  as  if  they  had  been  grasping  to  save 
the  fall,  is  the  nude  body  of  a murdered  youth,  called 
generally  Abel.  His  strongly  foreshortened  head,  upper 
part  of  chest  and  part  of  the  arms  are  in  the  shadow  cast 
by  the  murderer  who  is  just  springing  away  from  his 
fatal  deed.  Contrasting  with  this  lowered  tone,  which, 
unfortunately  has  blackened  with  time,  is  the  brilliant  if 
cold  light  that  throws  the  rest  of  the  beautiful  torso  into 
strong  relief.  Cain,  the  perpetrator,  has  pulled  his  tunic 
about  him,  still  clutching  the  bloody  knife  as  if  ready 
to  plunge  it  once  more.  His  terrible  face,  already  dis- 
torted by  fear  as  well  as  passion,  turns  toward  his  victim 
seeking  absolute  assurance  of  his  death.  This  figure  is 
as  dreadful  as  the  victim  is  beautiful.  As  unseen  by  the 
murderer  as  by  the  dead,  are  the  tw^o  figures  above  who 
sweep  with  noiseless  but  irresistible  swiftness  from  the 
right  out  of  the  celestial  regions.  Vengeance  and  Jus- 
tice come  together,  their  wings  reaching  far  beyond 
their  heads  and  shoulders,  their  garments  streaming 
behind  in  the  rapidity  of  their  approach.  Vengeance 
carries  a flaming  torch  in  her  left  hand  while  with  the 
other  she  seems  about  to  seize  the  shoulder  of  the  man 
below.  Her  face  is  turned  toward  her  companion,  Jus- 
tice, who  is  gazing  with  implacable  eyes  at  the  murderer. 
In  her  right  hand  she  grasps  a short  sword  and  in  her  left 
are  the  scales  of  judgment.  These  figures  are  conceived 
and  executed  in  the  very  spirit  of  the  great  Greeks,  a 
spirit  nevertheless  infused  with  an  individuality,  a 
modernity,  so  to  speak,  that  makes  them  real  and  con- 
vincing beyond  the  dreams  of  the  school  that  paraded 


Salle  Ibenrl  HH. 


319 


classicism  as  its  one  aim  and  object.  Prud’hon  did  not 
often  paint  such  gruesome  subjects.  He  preferred  the 
idyllic  to  the  epic  or  the  tragic.  The  gay,  the  frolicsome, 
the  dainty,  the  elusive,  the  feminine,  — these  were  what 
mostly  appealed  to  his  imagination.  But  in  this  masterly 
composition  he  has  achieved  heights  of  sombre  grandeur, 
of  power,  of  virility,  of  stern  nobility,  while  never  losing 
the  instinctive  charm  that  pervades  all  his  works.  It  is 
a lasting  monument  to  the  genius  of  the  man  who  worked 
outside  his  own  era,  who  was  wholly  uninfluenced  by  even 
the  greatest  of  those  of  differing  minds,  quite  as  incapable 
of  copying  as  he  was  of  actually  changing  his  point  of 
view. 

More  near  to  Prud’hon’s  heart  is  the  Transportation 
of  Psyche  by  the  Zephyrs  to  Cupid’s  Realm.  All  his 
life  he  was  enraptured  with  the  story  of  the  beautiful 
love  of  Cupid,  and  innumerable  are  the  pictures  and 
sketches  he  made  of  incidents  of  her  life.  This  one  in  the 
Louvre  is  the  best  known  and  one  of  the  most  perfect 
of  all  his  works. 

Psyche,  still  asleep,  with  a smile  on  her  lips  over  the 
pleasure  of  her  dreaming,  is  being  borne  through  the  air 
by  Zephyr  and  three  genii.  She  is  half-lying,  half-sitting 
on  their  arms. and  shoulders,  every  curve  of  her  beautiful 
body  full  of  a subtle  charm,  modelled  with  a warmth,  a 
nuance  that  only  Correggio,  it  seems,  could  have  excelled. 
Her  head  has  fallen  back  on  to  her  left  shoulder,  her  left 
arm  half-framing  the  tender,  sleeping  face.  The  utter 
relaxation  of  sleep  is  expressed  in  every  part  of  the 
body.  She  rests  wholly  and  inevitably  upon  her  con- 
veyers. Of  these,  Zephyr,  who  is  mostly  carrying  her, 
is  a slender  long-limbed  boy,  with  petal-like  wings  and  an 
elfin  profile.  A genii’s  head  comes  out  from  under 
Psyche’s  knees,  another  is  in  the  shadow  behind  the 


320 


Ube  art  of  tbe  Xouvre 


elbow  he  holds,  the  third  is  on  the  other  side  of  the 
body,  only  her  face  showing  above  the  flying  violet 
veils.  Clouds  are  beneath  them,  and  still  lower  a daisy- 
studded  field,  and  above  at  the  left  a glimpse  of  sky, 
rocks  and  vines.  The  management  of  the  chiaroscuro 
in  this  picture  is  Correggioesque  in  its  admirable  bal- 
ance of  parts,  its  luminous  lights,  its  effective,  dramatic 
shadows,  that  never  approach  the  theatric.  Most  of 
Psyche’s  body  is  in  the  light,  though  both  legs  and  face 
are  in  the  half-shadow  that  forms  so  entrancing  a part 
of  the  picture. 

It  is  a fairylike  dream,  showing  a spontaneity,  fer- 
tility of  imagination,  perfection  of  technique,  feeling  for 
chiaroscuro  that  place  it  among  the  very  best  of 
Prud’hon’s  works.  The  entire  scheme  of  colouring,  which 
is  almost  monochromatic  in  its  varying  tones  of  black 
to  white,  is  relieved  by  the  yellow  drapery  beneath  the 
maiden,  the  violet  clouds  of  soft  veiling  flying  about  her, 
the  blue  wings  of  Zephyr,  and  the  restrained  green  of  the 
fields  beneath. 

Looking  at  the  paintings  by  Gerard  in  the  Salle  des 
Sept  Cheminees,  it  is  hard  to  understand  how  he  could 
ever  have  been  called  the  “ Painter  of  Kings  and  the 
King  of  Painters.”  The  first  of  these  titles  he  earned  by 
being  court  painter  first  to  Nhpoleon  and  then  to  Louis 
XVIII.,  and  by  the  number  of  princes,  nobles  and  other 
great  of  the  land  who  sat  to  him  for  their  portraits. 
Though  he  was  regarded  as  a very  wonderful  portrait- 
painter  in  his  day,  the  second  part  of  the  eulogium  was 
doubtless  due  not  so  much  to  his  works  as  to  his  personal 
appearance.  The  Baron  Frangois-Pascal  Simon  Gerard 
had  an  appearance  so  superior,  so  marked,  so  distin- 
guished, that  nothing  was  felt  to  be  impossible  for  such  a 
personality.  This  estimate,  however,  was  not  fulfilled  by 


TRANSPORTATION  OF  PSYCHE  BY  THE  ZEPHYRS  TO  CUPID’S  REALM 

By  Prud’hon 


Salle  Ibenri  ITIF. 


321 


his  works.  He  was  a pupil  of  David  and  counted  himself 
a member  of  the  strictly  classic  school.  His  classical  and 
historical  compositions  nevertheless  are  very  mediocre 
attainments  and  it  is  only  as  a portrait-painter  that  he 
can  receive  any  decided  praise.  Even  here  the  encomiums 
lavished  upon  him  in  his  own  time  seem  overdone,  and 
among  the  three  hundred  likenesses  that  he  left  only  those 
executed  before  1800  are  greatly  commendable. 

The  Psyche  Receiving  the  Kisses  of  Cupid  was  at 
the  time  of  its  production  given  immense  praise,  but 
in  reality  it  is  hard,  dry,  academic  and  lifeless,  sur- 
charged with  a sickly  sentimentality  and  affectation.  It 
shows  the  god  of  love  bending  over  his  sweetheart 
imprinting  his  first  kiss  on  her  brow. 

In  the  Portrait  of  Isabey  and  His  Daughter  there  is 
something  more  of  the  really  estimable  qualities  of  the 
painter.  The  two  figures  are  standing  in  a hall  at  the 
right  of  the  foot  of  a flight  of  stairs  and  at  the  right 
beyond  them  a passage  is  seen  with  a dog  just  entering 
the  doorway  leading  into  it.  M.  Isabey  has  a black 
velvet  jacket  and  breeches  of  brown,  the  big  boots  tied 
on  below  the  knees  with  long  ribbon  bows.  In  his  left 
hand  he  holds  his  hat  and  gloves,  in  his  right  his 
tiny  daughter’s  hand.  She  is  in  a long  white  Empire 
gown  and  seems  to  have  paused  a moment  in  their  walk, 
her  father  turning  his  face  in  the  direction  her  eyes  are 
looking,  as  if  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  the  delay.  This 
is  in  the  main  a creditable  work,  though  for  our  day  his 
brush  seems  to  lack  freedom  and  mobility. 

Gros,  the  painter  of  Bonaparte  in  the  Pest  House  at 
Jaffa  which  hangs  in  Room  III.,  was,  like  Gerard,  a pupil 
of  David.  But,  though  all  his  life  he  claimed  to  belong 
to  that  coldly  classic  school,  he  may  be  called  with  perfect 
truth  an  involuntary  reactionist  against  it.  He  always 


322 


Ube  Hrt  ot  tbe  Xouvre 


felt  that  his  great  scenes  of  contemporary  life  were  not 
up  to  the  demands  of  the  highest  art.  Even  when  he  was 
painting  his  Napoleonic  pictures  and  when  the  French 
public  were  at  his  feet,  when  he  was  chosen  by  the 
emperor  for  special  decoration,  when  he  was  a member 
of  the  Institute,  when  he  was  made  baron  because 
of  his  artistic  achievements,  even  then  he  appears  never 
to  have  lost  his  self-distrust.  And  finally  when  David  was 
in  exile  and  Gros  had  his  classes,  the  banished  painter 
sent  a reproachful  cry  to  his  old  pupil.  “ You  owe  us 
the  Death  of  Themistocles,”  cried  he  who  could  see  no  art 
possible  in  pictures  of  modern  life.  And  so  greatly  did 
Gros,  in  spite  of  his  fifty  years  feel  the  necessity  for  com- 
plying, that  he  set  about  some  classical  subjects  at  once. 
When,  on  their  exhibition,  they  were  sharply  condemned, 
all  the  more  because  the  romantic  school  was  beginning 
to  show  its  influence,  the  timid,  self-distrustful  Gros 
moaned  that  it  was  a bitter  thing  to  have  outlived  one’s 
life.  And  forthwith,  the  man  who  had  been  a nation’s 
favourite,  who  had  won  nearly  all  the  prizes  life  could 
give,  drowned  himself  in  the  Seine. 

The  Jaffa  picture  is  the  first  of  the  great  scenes  that 
made  his  fame.  It  displays  the  interior  of  a highly  deco- 
rated mosque,  surrounded  by  a vast  court,  which  has  been 
converted  by  the  French  into  a hospital.  In  the  middle 
of  the  improvised  asylum  Bonaparte  stands,  followed  by 
his  generals  Berthier,  Bessieres,  and  Daure  and  the  head 
physician  Desgenette.  Bonaparte  is  touching  the  cancer 
exposed  on  a sailor,  who,  half-naked  stands  before  him. 
This  royal  touch  is  supposed  to  cure  the  terrible  malady, 
and  Gros  has  given  Napoleon  a benignity,  a fatherliness 
and  a nobility  of  expression  only  heightened  by  the 
youthfulness  of  the  face.  All  about  are  terrible  scenes 
gf  suffering,  things  it  appears  impossible  to  paint  and 


Salle  Ibenrl  nil. 


323 


keep  within  the  bonds  of  legitimate  art.  One  man  is 
under  the  surgeon’s  knife,  another  has  died  in  the  arms  of 
an  assistant.  There  seems  nothing  spared  that  would 
make  the  horror  worse.  And  yet,  strange  to  say,  it 
neither  repels  nor  affronts.  Nothing  could  be  more 
marked  than  the  vital  contrast  between  Napoleon  and 
his  staff,  breathing  a very  exuberance  of  health  and 
vigour,  and  the  pallid,  wasted  and  drawn  faces  and 
figures  about.  It  is  perhaps  this  very  contrast  that 
saves  the  artistic  unities.  There  is  at  any  rate  no  loath- 
ing,  no  disgust  possible  in  looking  at  this  masterly  work. 
Truth,  reality,  dramatic  effect,  joined  to  vigorous  action 
and  most  excellent  colour  are  the  things  that  must  strike 
every  one.  In  studying  this  it  is  easy  to  see  how,  in 
spite  of  himself,  as  it  were,  Gros  forms  the  connecting 
link  between  the  classic  school  and  that  of  the  succeeding 
romantic. 

The  Portrait  of  Napoleon  at  A'rcole  Gros  painted 
through  the  intervention  of  Josephine,  who  persuaded 
Napoleon  to  sit  to  the  painter  for  a very  short  time  each 
day.  It  represents  the  general  young,  intense,  full  of 
fire  and  passion  and  absorption.  He  is  placed  in  profile, 
his  left  arm  crossing  his  chest,  bearing  a standard  whose 
colours  are  flying  forward  in  the  wind.  His  head  is 
turned  looking  over  his  left  shoulder  bringing  it  into 
three-quarters  view.  It  is  a most  striking  delineation. 

The  Raft  of  the  Medusa  hangs  in  Salle  des  Sept  Ghemi- 
nees  and  is  the  work  by  which  Gericault  is  world-known. 
Gericault  may  be  called  the  actual  beginner  of  the 
romantic  school,  though  he  lived  only  in  the  period  of  the 
rule  of  classicism,  dying  before  Delacroix  really  was 
acknowledged  head  of  the  new  departure.  He  was  a 
pupil  of  Guerin,  the  devoted  admirer  and  pupil  of  David. 
So  little  impressed  was  this  cold  classicist  with  his  pupil’s 


324 


Ubc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


talents  that  he  advised  him  to  give  up  art  entirely.  It 
was  a grave  fault  he  considered  that  even  in  copying 
casts  the  young  man  could  “ not  help  giving  expression 
and  dramatic  action  ” to  everything  he  drew.  Expression 
and  dramatic  action ! Could  anything  be  worse  from  the 
point  of  view  of  a David?  Besides  his  love  for  intense 
moments  of  life  he  had  a great  fondness  for  horses,  and 
his  studies  and  pictures  of  them  are  most  excellent. 
Rosa  Bonheur,  years  afterward,  acknowledged  her  in- 
debtedness to  him.  His  first  exhibited  work  was  at  the 
Salon  of  1812,  a portrait  of  M.  Dieudonne  as  a chasseur 
charging.  When  David  saw  that  spirited  bit  of  realism 
he  was  as  amazed  as  he  was  disgusted.  “ Where  does  it 
come  from?  ” he  asked  indignantly.  “ I do  not  know  that 
touch.”  To  his  mind  there  was  altogether  too  much  life 
in  it  for  it  to  be  art  and  he  advised  Gericault  to  abandon 
a field  he  had  no  chance  of  ever  occupying.  Nothing  dis- 
mayed by  his  cold  reception,  in  1814  he  was  again  repre- 
sented by  the  scene  from  the  retreat  from  Moscow.  There 
were  great  power  and  original  feeling  in  the  snow-cov- 
ered field  where  the  grenadier  was  leading  the  worn-out 
horse  of  a wounded  soldier.  In  1817  he  went  for  two 
years  to  Italy  and  during  the  time  studied  largely  Michel- 
angelo. In  this  he  both  gained  and  lost.  Gained  in 
dramatic  intensity,  in  virility,  in  concentrated  power.  But 
unquestionably  he  lost  in  colour.  Naturally  of  a sombre 
nature  he  instinctively  chose  the  darker  moments  of  life 
as  the  subjects  for  his  brush,  and  from  now  on  he  began 
to  express  these  tragedies  in  dark,  monochromatic  tones. 
He  himself  scorned  his  former  “ rose  tones.”  Later,  when 
he  went  to  England,  he  saw  that  colour  was  after  all  an 
integral  adjunct  of  art  and  it  is  probable  if  his  short  life 
had  been  prolonged  he  would  have  left  even  more  wonder- 
ful works  than  now  bear  his  name. 


Salle  Ibenrl  HH 


325 


It  was  after  his  return  from  Italy  that  he  exhibited  his 
Raft  of  the  Medusa,  over  which  he  had  studied  for  three 
years.  It  was  based  on  the  wreck  of  the  frigate  Medusa, 
which  on  June  17,  1816,  set  out  for  St.  Louis,  Senegal,  to 
carry  the  governor  and  many  members  of  families  of  that 
colony.  The  raft  that  was  constructed  to  hold  one  hun- 
dred and  nineteen  of  the  wrecked  passengers  was  de- 
serted by  the  boats  which  were  to  have  towed  it,  and  after 
twelve  days  of  agony  fifteen  only  survived  and  were  at 
last,  with  their  dead  and  dying,  picked  up  by  the  Argos. 
The  moment  chosen  by  Gericault  was  when,  in  the  dis- 
tance, a sail  is  seen  far  against  the  horizon. 

The  loosely  put  together  raft  fills  almost  the  whole  of 
the  canvas.  Beyond  it  and  behind  it  huge  waves  pitch 
mountain-high  against  the  sky,  but  the  whole  tone  and 
colouring  of  this  sea  has  been  submerged  in  a sort  of 
dirty  brown  colour  that  takes  away  from  its  reality  as 
Well  as  from  its  value  as  a dramatic  adjunct.  Mounted 
on  a barrel  on  the  forward  part  of  the  raft,  an  almost 
nude  negro  is  waving  a signal  to  the  tiny  speck  that 
shows  dimly  against  the  lighter  horizon.  He  is  supported 
by  a man  standing  below,  grasping  his  legs.  Leaning 
against  the  barrel,  another  also  waves  a cloth.  A num- 
ber by  the  sail  still  have  enough  life  to  raise  themselves 
with  some  degree  of  vigour  and  one  man  stretches  out 
his  arm  excitedly  toward  the  distance  while  he  is  appar- 
ently encouraging  his  companions  beside  him.  A few 
others  in  the  centre  drag  themselves  weakly  to  their 
knees,  their  failing  strength  making  a last  desperate 
attempt  to  revive.  At  their  feet  lie  others,  dead,  or  too 
unconscious  to  notice  the  new  hope  of  their  companions. 
A father  sits  in  the  stern  in  an  anguish  beyond  words  or 
sight  to  disperse,  holding  against  him  the  lifeless  body 
of  his  son.  In  front,  caught  by  his  legs,  a figure  is 


326 


Ube  art  of  tbe  Xouvre 


thrown  backward  into  the  sea,  the  upper  part  covered  with 
a drapery.  It  was  for  this  splendidly  foreshortened  figure 
that  Delacroix  posed.  The  general  colour  of  the  picture 
is  dull,  deeply  sombre  and  without  great  depth  of  colour 
in  that  sombreness.  It  is  only  in  its  intensity  of  dramatic 
action,  its  grandly  composed  masses,  its  fine  individual 
rendering  of  form,  face  and  expression,  in  its  appeal  to  the 
emotions,  in  a word,  that  it  is  so  great.  Gericault  had 
so  strong  a sense  of  the  limitations  and  requirements  of 
art  that  frightful  as  the  scene  is,  it  is  not  repulsive.  The 
approaching  vessel  has  taken  away  from  the  stagnant 
despair  and  the  ray  of  hope  thus  thrown  upon  the  scene 
makes  it  possible  to  look  at  the  picture  without  too 
great  horror. 

The  painting  was  not  well  received  and  it  found  no 
purchaser.  Gericault  then  took  it  with  him  to  England 
where  it  created  a great  sensation,  and  brought  him  a 
good  deal  of  money.  On  his  return  he  painted  the  Epsom 
Races  which  was  one  of  the  things  he  had  greatly  enjoyed 
in  England  and  which  gave  him  a fine  chance  to  depict 
his  favourite  animal  in  its  most  intense  moment  of  life. 

This  Epsom  Race  is  in  the  same  room  and  shows  four 
horses  of  as  many  shades  of  colour  on  a mad  run, 
mounted  by  their  jockeys,  each  one  urging  his  animal 
to  its  utmost  speed.  The  landscape  is  almost  a blank,  the 
sky  heavily  clouded.  Element  calls  its  treatment  dry,  but 
Gericault  has  probably  never  excelled  the  horses  in  any 
of  his  many  studies  of  them.  The  first  two  are  almost 
neck  and  neck,  the  head  of  the  third  comes  to  the 
second’s  haunches,  and  the  fourth  is  only  a neck  behind. 
Motion,  a very  crisis  of  motion  is  the  dominating  thought. 
The  straining  necks,  the  excited,  open  mouths,  the  flying 
hoofs  add  to  the  intensity  of  a dramatic  moment  that. 


Salic  Ibenrl  Hf. 


327 


with  none  of  the  agony  of  the  Medusa,  holds  one  almost 
equally  spellbound. 

Paul  Delaroche’s  Young  Martyr  hangs  in  Salle  II.,  and 
though  it  is  largely  its  literary  quality  that  has  made 
it  so  popular,  there  is  undoubtedly  a poignancy  to  the  pale, 
floating  face  in  the  green  water,  that  partly  atones  for 
its  evident  theatricalness.  She  floats  there  with  her 
hands  folded  softly,  her  sweet,  pure  face  turned  out 
toward  her  left  shoulder.  Above  her  face  is  the  halo, 
which  seems  a bit  of  unnecessary  unreality.  The  river 
is  bearing  her  past  the  huge  towering  cliff,  at  the  foot  of 
which  is  seen  the  prow  of  a Roman  boat  tied  to  a post. 
Above,  on  a spur  of  the  cliff  two  men  gaze  affrighted 
at  the  vision  of  the  lovely  girl.  They  and  the  rocks  are 
in  deep  shadow  massed  against  the  moonlit  sky.  It  is 
this  silver  gleam  that  strikes  the  slight  body  and  throws 
it  out  into  pallid  relief. 

Paul  Delaroche  was  a pupil  of  Gros,  and  therefore  was 
never  deeply  imbued  with  classicism,  yet  neither  did  he 
ever  revolt  from  the  school.  All  his  life  he  was  a strad- 
dler, trying  to  adopt  the  principles  of  both  the  romanticists 
and  the  classicists.  He  chose  historical  painting  as  his 
usual  means  of  expression,  putting  himself  in  this  way 
out  of  the  preempted  ground  of  either  school.  His 
chief  idea  was  to  show  an  agreeable,  sparkling,  highly 
seasoned,  bituminous  art  of  painting.  And  his  scheme 
worked  well  during  his  whole  life.  He  was  popular, 
idolized,  indeed,  and  overwhelmed  with  orders  at  the 
very  time  when  Delacroix  was  scorned,  reviled  and 
ignored.  “ Colour  and  spirit  of  events  had  no  power 
over  his  imagination,  he  only  apprehended  them  with 
a cool  understanding  and  put  them  laboriously  together.” 

Salle  II.  has  three  pictures  by  Decamps,  he  who  has 
been  called  the  father  of  the  French  school  of  modern  im- 


328 


Zhc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


pressionism.  He  and  Delacroix  are  also  regarded  as 
being  the  originators  of  the  Oriental  school  of  the  nine- 
teenth century.  These  two  men  and  Horace  Vernet 
began  to  exhibit  Oriental  scenes  at  about  the  same  time. 
They  all  made  trips  to  the  East,  but  before  Decamps  had 
ever  been  there  he  had  already  shown  an  Oriental  sub- 
ject in  his  Turk  in  Cashmere  Robe.  Decamps  early 
achieved  great  popularity.  He  had  never  had  much 
instruction  and  his  draughtsmanship  was  often  decidedly 
defective,  but  somehow  his  work  struck  the  public 
favourably  and  so  long  as  he  chose  he  kept  this  public 
his  own.  It  is  greatly  to  his  honour  that  in  his  later 
years  he  voluntarily  abandoned  the  field  wRere  he  was 
so  certain  of  success  and  began  a rigid  discipline  that, 
had  he  lived  would  have  made  him  far  greater  as  painter 
than  he  ever  had  been.  But  in  Fontainebleau,  where  he 
had  retired  to  work  and  study,  he  was  one  day  while 
riding  thrown  against  a tree,  and  in  August,  i860,  he 
died. 

He  was  considered  a wonderful  realist  in  his  time, 
but  he  actually  almost  never  absolutely  reproduced  any- 
thing he  saw.  He  had  a remarkable  talent  for  giving 
the  impression  of  what  he  had  seen,  and  besides  this  he 
had  a fine  feeling  for  composition  and  for  the  ethics 
of  picture-making,  if  one  can  so  designate  it.  His  skies, 
with  their  piling  cloud,  his  trees  with  their  bare  arms, 
the  movement  of  light  and  shadow,  — all  these  were 
kept  in  accordance  with  the  movement  of  the  figures  in 
the  scene.  There  is  always  a homogeneity,  a wholeness 
about  the  most  insignificant  of  his  canvases.  He  felt  the 
effect  of  sunlight  very  strongly,  and  in  his  golden-toned 
landscapes  he  made  tremendous  efforts  to  reproduce 
the  atmospheric  conditions  he  so  adored.  Unfortunately 
he  never  succeeded  in  capturing  the  real  sunlight.  His 


Salle  Iftenrf  Hf, 


329 


very  attempts  toward  this  were  wrong.  He  intensified 
his  shadows  till  they  became  huge  cavernous  blotches, 
thinking  thus  to  show  by  their  contrast  the  brilliance  of 
the  light.  He  did  not  see,  what  Marilhat  had  begun  to 
notice,  that  the  clearer  and  more  intense  the  sunlight 
the  more  luminous  the  shadow.  In  this  respect,  as  M. 
Mantz  has  pointed  out,  he  belongs  rather  to  the  Dutch 
school,  his  works  showing  a strong  similarity  in  method 
to  De  Hooch  and  to  Rembrandt,  the  latter,  of  whom, 
indeed,  he  admired  as  the  greatest  master  of  all  time. 

The  sketch  for  The  Caravan  in  Room  II.,  is  a poem, 
a poem  that  remains  almost  as  subtle,  as  vivid,  as  full 
of  tonal  effects  in  one  of  the  rich  carbon  photographs  as 
in  the  picture  itself,  — which  is  a very  good  proof  that 
even  the  blackening  of  Decamps’s  forced  shadows  has 
not  spoiled  the  poetic  effect  of  his  pictures  or  hidden  his 
real  value  as  a great  painter.  From  the  left,  across  the 
sands  of  the  desert  comes  a file  of  camels,  mounted  or 
laden,  going  toward  the  little  lake  in  the  centre  where 
already  some  are  drinking.  Not  far  away  filling  the 
centre  and  right  of  the  middle  distance  a softly  shaded 
mosque,  showing  the  golden  tones  of  the  setting  sun,  cuts 
fine  square  lines  against  the  suffused  sky.  The  fore- 
ground is  dark  again,  as  are  the  camels,  though  here 
and  there  a rider  or  flank  of  one  of  the  beasts  is  thrown 
into  brilliance.  The  unfinished  state  of  this  sketch,  with 
the  rather  indeterminate  lines  of  the  camels,  on  the 
whole  add  to  its  charm. 

A Bulldog  and  a Scotch  Terrier,  in  the  same  room, 
shows  the  English  canine  at  the  left,  lying  down  with 
nose  between  his  paws,  his  eyes  widely  watchful,  his 
whole  air  if  not  pugilistic,  at  least  such  as  would  warn  the 
trespasser  to  look  out.  Standing  by  his  side  in  profile, 
is  the  Scotchman.  A muzzle  covers  his  longer  nose. 


33° 


TLbc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


and  a sort  of  harness  is  hitched  on  to  his  collar  and  goes 
around  his  body.  Apparently  wholly  unconcerned  and 
regardless,  there  is  a sharp  sidewise  look  in  his  eye 
that  perhaps  accounts  for  his  muzzle.  The  two  dogs 
are  both  wonders  of  expressive  dogdom. 

Even  more  truly  than  Decamps  was  Diaz  one  of  the 
famous  men  of  the  so-called  Barbizon  school,  this 
name,  in  its  narrowest  and  earliest  meaning,  indicating 
a number  of  painters  who  had  left  the  city  and  taken  up 
their  abode  for  part  or  all  of  the  year  in  the  forest  of 
Fontainebleau.  Diaz  was  one  of  the  first  of  this  band 
and  it  is  his  pictures  of  this  grand  old  forest  that  have 
given  him  his  greatest  fame.  His  attempts  at  figure- 
painting were  in  the  pseudo-classic  style  and  like  the 
No  Entrance  and  Fairy  with  Pearls  both  of  which  are  in 
Salle  Henri  IL,  are  little  more  than  weak  imitations  of 
Prud’hon.  His  later  years  were  given  entirely  to  the 
painting  of  landscape,  or,  more  definitely  “ treescapes,” 
and  it  is  in  these  that  he  shows  himself  the  poet  who 
has  something  to  say  that  no  one  else  has  said  before. 
His  was  the  gold-tipped  brush  that  caressed  with  IMidas- 
touch  the  path  through  the  heart  of  the  forest,  the 
huge  trunks  of  oak,  and  sycamore,  the  swaying  slender 
birches,  and  filled  these  hidden  forest  glades  with  a 
shimmering  golden  haze  that  threw  its  tone  over  gipsies 
or  dryads  or  Orientals  or  peasants,  with  impartial  lustre. 
It  is  always  summer  in  the  depths  of  these  forest  glades, 
and  the  quivering  dancing  sunlight  that  turns  the  trunks 
almost  to  gold  is  a hot,  pulsing  light,  full  of  the  fiery 
southern  breath  that  on  the  bare  plain  would  be  fairly 
intolerable.  Piercing  through  the  thick  canopies  of 
packed  leaves  and  twisted  branches,  it  loses  its  blasting 
heat  and  only  warms,  lights,  glorifies.  That  seems  to 
be  its  province  in  all  of  Diaz’s  greatest  pictures.  The 


THE  BOHEMIANS 

By  Diaz 


I 


Salle  Dend  fl 


331 


densest  wood,  the  dimmest  glen,  the  heaviest  branches,  the 
most  gnarled  and  bent  of  tree-trunks,  all  are  transformed, 
transmuted,  with  this  golden  aroma  of  dazzling  sunlight. 

These  are  the  attributes  of  his  greatest  works,  and 
one  can  see  in  his  Birch-Tree  Study  in  this  room  how 
he  revelled  over  the  great  trunk,  his  “ stem  picture  ” 
as  he  used  to  call  each  new  canvas,  how  he  loved  it, 
caressing  it  with  his  shimmering  sunlight,  studying  it, 
brightening  it.  Over  and  over  again  he  painted  almost 
the  same  trees,  the  same  glen,  ever  trying  to  approach 
nearer  his  poet’s  vision. 

In  The  Bohemians  the  idea  is  the  same  as  in  the  one 
in  the  Boston  Art  Museum,  but  it  is  carried  out  dif- 
ferently. In  the  Boston  picture  the  train  of  gipsies,  in 
spite  of  their  great  number,  is  only,  in  a way,  a part  of  the 
whole  landscape  and  it  is  evident  at  once  that  the  pic- 
ture is  not  so  much  of  them  as  of  the  glowing,  sun- 
kissed  forest.  In  the  Louvre  version,  the  gipsies  are  the 
principal  thing.  At  the  back  the  boughs  of  the  forest 
frame  a large  bit  of  the  sky.  A tall  gipsy  maiden  with 
a basket  on  her  head,  silhouettes  against  this  open  square. 
Ahead  of  her  come  the  others  of  the  band,  down  to  the 
clearing  in  front.  A woman  and  child  sit  at  the  left, 
another  young  girl  stands  beside  her  with  outstretched 
arms,  by  her  side  a man  helps  a girl  over  the  brook, 
and  behind  these  come  others  down  the  woodland  path. 
The  golden  light  is  sifted  on  to  the  group,  the  effect 
of  the  whole  is  molten,  glowing. 

With  the  Execution  without  Judgment  by  Regnault, 
which  is  in  the  same  room,  we  come  to  the  work  of  a 
man  whose  life  might  have  extended  into  this  twentieth 
century,  but  who,  instead,  gave  that  life  to  his  country 
when  it  had  but  just  begun.  Regnault  was  the  idolized 
of  France,  and  even  to-day  more  than  thirty  years  after, 


332 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


Frenchmen  speak  of  him  with  a living  sorrow  as  if  he  had 
died  but  yesterday.  He  can  be  called  the  last  great 
representative  of  the  romantic  school  of  which  Dela- 
croix was  the  founder.  What  he  would  have  been,  can 
only  be  surmised.  But  at  twenty-seven  he  was  already, 
to  quote  Miss  Kingsley,  “ original  as  a thinker,  magnifi- 
cent and  daring  as  a draughtsman,  superb  as  a colourist.” 
He  took  the  Prix  de  Rome  when  only  twenty-three  and 
it  was  while  still  “ pensionnaire  ” that,  in  spite  of  his 
immunity  from  obligation  to  serve,  he  hastened  home 
from  Morocco  to  join  the  artists’  battalion  in  the  fatal  war 
of  1870. 

The  Execution  without  Judgment  has  been  called  a 
symphony  in  red,  — and  it  is  in  reds  that  vary  from 
the  pale  rose-reds  of  the  Moor’s  gown  to  the  purplish 
red  of  the  pool  of  blood  under  his  victim.  Standing  on  the 
marble  steps  of  the  Abencerrages  of  the  Alhambra,  is 
the  immensely  tall  and  muscular  Moor,  wfiping  with 
perfect  nonchalance  the  blood  from  his  yataghan.  His 
half-closed  eyes  glance  with  a sort  of  lazy  curiosity  at  his 
bloody  work,  and  his  whole  body  is  held  quietly  at  ease, 
no  sign  of  tension  or  of  disorder  in  his  pose  or  ex- 
pression. Below  him  on  the  steps  in  a heap  just  as  he 
has  fallen,  lies  the  headless  trunk  of  his  prey,  and,  a 
step  lower,  is  the  fearful  head  with  its  bulging  e3’es 
from  which  the  terror  still  glares.  Connecting  head  and 
body  are  the  dripping  pools  of  blood. 

So  realistically  horrible  is  this  picture  that  women 
have  fainted  on  seeing  it.  The  colour-scheme  is  rich, 
vivid,  the  composition  masterly,  the  drawing  superb. 
Whether  such  a subject  belongs  properly  to  the  domain 
of  art,  or  if  belonging  can  by  its  subject  take  high  rank, 
is  a question  perhaps,  for  individualistic  answer.  At 
least  it  is  the  sort  of  subject  Regnault  revelled  in. 


EXECUTION  WITHOUT  JUDGMENT 

By  Regiiault 


Salle  Ibenrl  1I1l» 


333 


Though  a wonderful  portrait-painter,  his  forceful,  puis- 
sant, tumultuous  nature  expressed  itself  with  a perfect 
fever  of  abandonment  in  scenes  of  carnage,  of  riotous 
contortions,  of  sinister  meaning,  of  all  things  out  of  the 
commonplace. 

The  Interment  at  Ornans  by  Courbet  was  given  to 
the  Louvre  by  the  artist’s  sister  after  his  death.  At  the 
time  of  its  first  exhibition  it  raised  a tremendous  storm 
of  opposition.  It  was  claimed  that  it  ridiculed  a solemn 
occasion,  that  it  was  a sort  of  comic  opera  on  themes 
best  expressed  by  a dirge.  Low,  vulgar  and  disgusting 
were  the  epithets  oftenest  hurled  at  it.  To-day  this  all 
seems  strange  enough.  The  funeral  service  of  which 
this  is  a picture,  impresses  us  as  a very  real  transcript 
of  every-day,  country  life,  painted  with  a truth  to 
ensemble  and  detail.  With  no  rude  irreverence  or  frivol- 
ity, it  has  also  no  mawkish  sentimentality  or  forcing  of 
solemnity.  Actually  the  people  represented  were  por- 
traits of  - real  people  of  Ornans,  Courbet’s  native  town 
which  he  always  loved  to  paint.  And  they  are  most 
excellent  portraits  as  well. 

In  the  very  centre  of  the  foreground  the  farther  half 
of  the  open  grave  is  shown.  At  the  end  kneels  the  grave- 
digger in  his  shirt  sleeves,  looking  up  at  the  priest  who, 
with  his  assistants  and  acolytes  stands  a little  at  the  left 
of  the  grave.  Behind  them  four  pall-bearers  carry  the 
draped  bier.  At  the  right  are  the  friends  and  relatives, 
three  men  and  a dog  standing  first  and  behind  them 
a number  of  weeping  peasant  women.  At  the  extreme 
right,  the  woman  holding  a child  by  the  hand  is  Courbet’s 
mother. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


SALLE  DES  ETATS  — ROOM  VIII.  — FRENCH  SCHOOL 

The  Salle  des  Etats,  Room  VIII.  on  the  plan,  opens 
at  one  end  into  the  Grande  Galerie  and  at  the  other  into 
Salle  Denon.  It  contains  Erench  pictures  mostly  of  the 
second  and  third  quarters  of  the  nineteenth  century,  and, 
with  the  Thomy-Thiery  collection  includes  most  of  the 
greatest  gems  of  French  art  owned  by  the  Louvre. 

Rather  out  of  its  element  in  this  modern  collection  is 
David’s  classic  work,  the  Oath  of  the  Horatii.  At  the  left 
the  three  brothers  stand  with  extended  arms  before 
their  father  receiving  their  swords  from  his  hand,  promis- 
ing by  the  act  everlasting  vengeance  upon  the  Curatii. 
At  the  right  sits  their  sister,  who,  betrothed  as  she  is 
to  one  of  the  enemy,  leans  over  in  an  agony  of  grief 
upon  Sabina  wife  of  the  eldest  brother.  The  mother  holds 
in  her  arms  her  two  little  children.  The  action  is 
calculated  and  wholly  unspontaneous.  The  work  was 
done  with  the  assistance  of  Drouais. 

Prud’hon’s  Portrait  of  Baron  Denon  is  evidence  that 
though  he  can  be  called  a portrayer  of  w’omen  rather  than 
of  men,  he  yet  could  paint  men  with  an  insight  that  was 
especially  noticeable  when  his  subjects  were  men  of 
genuine  feeling  and  artistic  sensibility.  This  is  one 
of  these.  It  is  a portrait  that  France  has  seldom  sur- 
passed. The  old  Director  General  of  Fine  Arts  is  dressed 

334 


Salle  &es  Btats 


335 


in  his  Academician  garments,  the  Russian  Order  of  St. 
Anne  about  his  neck.  His  short  gray  hair,  soft  and 
fine,  and  grown  far  back  on  his  head,  stands  up  as  if 
the  activity  of  the  brain  under  it  would  not  allow  it  to 
lie  flat  and  smooth.  The  forehead  is  monumental  in  its 
width  and  breadth.  The  eyes,  far  apart,  but  not  wide 
open,  the  large,  firmly  cut  nose,  the  fine  line  of  the  closely 
shut  mouth,  the  square,  cleft  chin,  with  the  slight  extra 
flesh  beneath,  — every  point  of  this  intense  personality 
is  felt,  but  as  a whole  rather  than  as  countable  attributes. 
The  head  is  in  three-quarters  position,  turned  toward 
his  left  shoulder.  A decided  but  very  luminous  shadow 
falls  on  the  right  side  of  his  face,  breaking  into  a light 
across  the  eye  and  cheek-bone.  The  rest  of  the  face  is 
mostly  in  full  clear  light.  And  it  is  as  fresh,  as  mobile, 
as  free  in  its  brush-work,  and  as  fascinating  in  its  planes 
as  a face  by  Correggio,  he  who  was,  next  to  Leonardo, 
Prud’hon’s  great  admiration. 

Napoleon  at  Eylau,  by  Gros,  hangs  on  the  east  wall. 
It  was  after  the  exhibition  of  this  immense  canvas,  with 
its  figures  of  more  than  life-size  that  Napoleon  took 
the  cross  from  his  own  breast  and  gave  it  to  the  painter. 

Napoleon,  in  a gray  satin  pelisse,  bordered  with  fur, 
is  mounted  on  a light  bay  horse,  viewing  with  his  gen- 
erals the  terrible  scene  of  destruction  after  the  battle. 
The  ground  is  covered  with  snow,  and  in  the  background, 
where  before  the  lines  of  French  troops  the  prisoners 
of  war  pass  in  review,  is  the  village  of  Eylau  in  flames. 
Before  it,  what  seem  to  be  at  first  glance  natural  mounds 
of  drifted  snow,  turn  out  to  be  heaps  of  dead  bodies 
over  which  the  snow  has  fallen.  Napoleon’s  face  and 
attitude  are  very  expressive.  The  reins  are  dropped 
in  one  hand  and  the  other  is  lifted  with  a gesture  full 
of  distress,  as  he  contemplates  the  gruesome  plain.  By 


336 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


his  side  are  Soult,  Davoust,  Murat,  Berthier,  Bessieres 
and  Caulaincourt.  Before  them  the  wounded,  dying  and 
dead.  One  poor  fellow  is  clasping  the  emperor’s  knee 
begging  his  blessing.  One  is  being  raised  by  an  aide. 
One  young  “ chasseur  ” helps  to  set  the  leg  of  a wounded 
soldier  under  the  direction  of  Percy,  the  surgeon-general. 
Even  in  his  agony,  the  soldier  raises  himself  to  salute 
his  chief.  French  surgeons  are  among  the  enemy  also, 
bandaging,  giving  water.  Beyond,  a little  farther  back, 
a cannonier  lies  dead  across  his  gun.  Farther  still  two 
chasseurs  of  the  Guard  places  upon  one  of  their  horses 
a badly  wounded  grenadier. 

Again  as  in  the  Jaffa  painting  is  the  strong  contrast 
between  the  living  and  dying,  between  bounding,  perfect 
health  and  gray  pallidness  and  waning  strength.  And 
even  more  than  in  the  other  do  we  feel  the  pathos,  the 
pain,  the  pity  of  it  all.  Death  in  its  full  grimness  is 
there  in  plenty,  yet  once  more  the  master-brush  has 
made  a great  tragedy  that  stirs  the  deeps  of  emotion, 
and  again  one  finds  that  it  is  not  in  any  way  beyond 
the  limits  of  true  art.  By  its  treatment,  by  the  power- 
ful imagination  combined  with  the  sanity  and  instinctive 
clarity  of  its  painter,  it  impresses  itself  indelibly  upon 
the  memory. 

The  Apotheosis  of  Homer,  by  Ingres,  shows  the  blind 
bard  seated  on  the  top  of  a wide  flight  of  stairs  at  the 
entrance  to  a Greek  temple.  Standing  at  his  right  is 
the  winged  figure  of  the  Muse  who,  descending  from  the 
sky  holds  the  palm  and  laurel  wreath  in  her  hands. 
Homer  is  partly  draped  in  a robe  that  falls  away  leaving 
his  chest  and  right  arm  bare.  His  left  hand  is  grasping 
his  staff  which  he  has  brought  close  up  before  him. 
Ranged  on  each  side  of  the  steps  is  the  company  of  poets, 
writers,  painters,  sculptors  and  musicians  of  all  time. 


Salle  &es  lEtats 


337 


Those  of  the  oldest  of  the  Greek  days  are  nearer  his 
level,  those  of  later  at  the  lower  sides.  At  his  feet  are 
the  two  daughters,  for  so  has  Ingres  personified  his 
Iliad  and  Odyssey,  Odyssey  at  the  right  holding  the  oar 
of  the  long  voyages  of  the  son  of  Laertes  across  her 
knee,  Iliad  on  the  left,  with  her  arms  crossed  about  her 
knees,  her  head  turned  mournfully  outward. 

Among  the  great  ones  surrounding  Homer,  are 
Apelles,  clasping  the  hand  of  Raphael  standing  behind 
him,  Phidias  with  his  mallet,  Herodotus  offering  incense, 
Virgil  and  Socrates.  Below,  on  each  side,  are  those  of 
later  days,  and  of  Ingres’s  own  time.  There  are  Dante 
and  Shakespeare,  Poussin  and  Gluck,  Racine  and  Boileau, 
Fenelon  and  La  Fontaine.  And  these  moderns  are  won- 
derfully characterized.  Each  head  is  living,  full  of  force 
and  personality.  No  less  excellent  in  their  own  way  are 
the  ideal  heads  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans  above  them. 
In  this  work  Ingres  joined  to  the  strict  classicism  shown 
in  the  lines  and  general  style,  a feeling  for  beauty  and 
an  expression  of  individuality  that  makes  it  an  exponent 
of  the  very  highest  of  the  classic  school.  It  does,  as 
has  been  often  said,  suggest  Raphael  in  its  scheme  and 
even  in  its  execution.  One  may  well  think  that  only 
he  who  had  spent  untold  hours  absorbing  the  very  spirit 
of  the  Parnassus  and  the  School  of  Athens,  could  ever 
have  produced  this  modernized  Greek  epic.  Yet  a copy 
of  Raphael  it  most  certainly  is  not.  And  all  times,  all 
schools  of  all  shades  of  belief  must  acknowledge  it  as  a 
work  of  talent  that,  if  below  the  par  of  genius,  is  at  least 
w;orthy  of  a high  place  on  the  list  of  fame. 

Ingres  studied  with  David  and  throughout  his  long 
life  upheld  the  school  of  his  master.  He  was  a rampant, 
unyielding  classicist,  putting  his  entire  efforts  into  pro- 
ducing a beauty  of  form,  a delicacy  and  truth  of  line,  a 


338 


XTbe  art  of  tbe  Xouvre 


simplicity  that  was  a perfection  of  modelling.  He  was 
the  one  great  exponent  of  the  classic  school  during  the 
years  when  Delacroix  was  triumphantly  at  the  head  of 
the  new  romantic  movement,  and  though  the  age  was 
realistically  romantic,  and  had  mostly  outgrown  the  cold 
marbleness  of  David  and  his  school,  yet,  so  persistent,  so 
firm,  so  unyielding  was  he  in  his  own  way,  and  so  fault- 
lessly did  he  carry  out  his  ideas,  that  he  succeeded  in 
winning  from  the  nation  as  much  honour  and  appreciation 
as  was  given  to  his  bitter  rival,  Delacroix.  Unquestion- 
ably he  did  achieve  a purity,  a rarely  perfect  if  purely 
intellectual  beauty  that  in  spite  of  its  total  lack  of  appeal 
to  the  emotions,  in  spite  of  its  almost  total  ignoring  of 
the  power  and  beauty  of  colour,  did  win,  and  wins  to-day, 
the  admiration  and  respect  even  of  those  who  radically 
disagree  with  him  as  to  what  constitutes  the  art  of 
painting.  There  are  many  amusing  stories  told  illustrat- 
ing his  intense  aversion  to  any  kind  of  art  or  artist  who 
did  not  follow  his  lines  of  thought.  On  taking  his  pupils 
through  the  Rubens  Gallery  he  would  say,  “ Salute  him, 
my  children,  but  do  not  look  at  him.” 

In  this  Salle  des  Etats,  Ary  Scheffer  has  three  paint- 
ings, which  give  a fair  sample  of  his  work  at  its  best  and 
at  its  worst.  In  the  Death  of  Gericault,  he  struck  a 
higher  note  than  ever  before  or  after.  There  are  real 
feeling,  power  and  pathos  in  the  scene  that  shows  the 
great  painter  with  his  two  friends.  Colonel  Brodebout 
and  Dedreux  Dorcy  behind  his  bed.  There  is  even  some 
attempt  at  colour  here,  and,  small  as  is  the  canvas,  marks 
Scheffer’s  greatest  achievement. 

The  Temptation  of  Christ  is  a work  much  better 
known  from  its  innumerable  reproductions.  The  devil, 
with  the  usual  darkness  of  colouring  and  of  the  conven- 
tional figure  since  Milton’s  poem,  stands  near  the  summit 


Salle  Des  Btats 


339 


of  the  mountain  showing  Christ  the  distant  cities  that  lie 
below.  Jesus,  in  the  clinging  robes  Scheifer  loved, 
stands  rebuking  the  evil  one  and  points  dramatically  to 
the  sky.  This  is  as  conventional  as  it  was  popular,  and 
has  little  to  recommend  it  except  the  story-telling  quality, 
which,  to  be  sure,  is  positively  blatant. 

Though  Ary  Schetfer  is  always  included  in  the  French 
school,  it  is  only  by  virtue  of  his  long  residence  and  train- 
ing in  Paris.  His  mother  was  Dutch  and  his  father  was 
German,  and  he  himself  was  born  in  Dordrecht.  A 
pupil  of  Guerin  he  was  left  by  that  strict  Academician 
to  follow  pretty  much  his  own  bent.  This  bent  was 
an  effort  to  combine  the  attributes  of  the  waning  classic 
school  with  those  of  the  romantic.  Like  many  another 
with  two  masters  he  fell  between  two  stools.  In  spite 
of  the  great  popularity  won  by  his  works  for  so  many 
years,  they  are  mostly  a blending  of  sentiment  often 
bordering  on  sentimentality,  of  a sweet  beauty  that  is  next 
door  to  the  lachrymose,  a tenderness  that  is  positively 
unprincipled  in  its  weakness,  a purity  of  line  with  a total 
lack  of  accent  or  power,  and,  joined  at  times  to  a poetic 
conception,  an  absolute  blindness  to  colour.  In  fact 
Ary  Scheffer’s  pictures  must  be  regarded  as  something 
existing  entirely  out  of  the  realms  of  colour.  One  wonders 
what  he  ever  put  on  his  palette.  If  there  were  any  rich, 
glowing  or  subtle  tones,  they  stayed  there.  Never  by 
any  chance  did  they  get  placed  upon  his  canvas. 

Only  a year  younger  than  Scheffer  was  Corot,  who 
has  two  of  his  most  beautiful  canvases  in  this  room,  but 
looking  at  the  paintings  of  the  two,  it  seems  as  if  an  eter- 
nity must  separate  them.  In  the  beginning  of  Corot’s 
artistic  career,  however,  there  was  not  so  strong  a dif- 
ference between  them.  When,  at  the  age  of  twenty-six 
the  draper’s  clerk  persuaded  his  father  to  let  him  take  up 


340 


Ube  Brt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


art  as  a profession,  he  produced,  under  the  instruction 
of  Michallon,  Roman  ruins,  Greek  temples  or  modern 
Italian  landscape  with  a scrupulous  fidelity  to  actuality, 
with  a brush  that  drew  exactly  and  vividly  if  somewhat 
angularly  the  scene  before  him.  It  was  the  influence  of 
the  classic  school  that  shows  most  in  these  early  paintings. 
H|e  developed  his  own  particular  talent  late  in  life,  and  it 
is  undoubtedly  due  to  the  perpetual  youth  of  his  mind 
and  spirit  that  at  forty,  after  fourteen  years  of  continuous 
practice  in  all  the  traditions  of  the  classic  school,  he  could 
so  change,  vivify  and  wholly  transform  his  style.  If  in 
Corot’s  later  pictures  he  has  been  accused  of  a lack  of 
strict  drawing,  the  lack,  such  as  it  is,  is  not  due  to  any 
ignorance  on  his  part,  but  to  deliberate  intention.  With 
his  depth  of  knowledge  he  could  afford  to  neglect  what 
to  lesser  minds  and  a more  superficially  trained  brush 
would  have  seemed  over  important.  Corot  knew  and  it 
is  certainly  largely  owing  to  his  long  academic  train- 
ing that  he  could  allow  himself  liberties,  that  he  could 
play  with  nature,  and  become  such  a part  of  her,  that 
those  of  any  poetic  instinct  must  see  that  truth  and 
fidelity  are  always  present  in  the  least  as  in  the  great- 
est of  his  works. 

It  has  been  claimed  that  his  pictures  all  look  alike. 
This  is  really  not  much  more  than  saying  that  his 
brush-work  becomes  after  awhile,  familiar,  or  at  the 
most  that  he  loved  chiefly  twD  parts  of  the  day,  the 
dawn  and  twilight,  and  repeated  them  in  his  canvases 
many  times.  The  middle  of  the  day  he  did  not  care 
to  paint.  “ One  sees  too  much,”  he  declared.  And  that 
is  the  real  reason  for  the  superficial  observer’s  claim  of 
the  similarity  between  Corot’s  paintings.  One  never  does 
see  too  much.  Veiled  with  the  dawn’s  vapours,  only  sug- 
gested in  the  tremulous  mist  of  earliest  spring,  softly 


Salle  bes  lEtats 


341 


submerged  under  the  translucent  shadows  of  the  twilight, 
only  half  exposed  in  the  pearly  light  of  the  new-risen 
moon,  — these  are  the  moods  of  nature  and  the  times 
of  day  and  season  Corot  best  loved.  This  is  all  the 
similarity  between  them.  Any  one  who  knows  his  pic- 
tures well,  knows  best  the  variety,  the  individuality  and 
the  surprises  that  fill  them.  Silvery  green  is  Corot’s 
palette,  on  first  examination.  A myriad  other  as  ex- 
quisite tones  are  found  with  closer  study.  The  soft  grays, 
the  violets,  the  clear  cool  browns,  the  luminous  whites, 
the  silvered  yellows,  — those  are  the  tones  his  lovers 
have  found  in  profusion,  and  they  make  a gamut  as  varied 
as  it  is  delicate,  as  penetrative  as  it  is  subtle,  as  true  as 
it  is  poetic.  It  is  this  last  quality  that  fills  every  canvas 
of  Corot’s  later  years.  Each  scene  is  an  idyl,  each 
canvas  a painted  poem,  — or  better  still  a tone-poem. 
Corot  loved  music  as  deeply  as  he  did  painting  and  his 
works  have  suggested  musical  comparisons  to  many, 
partly  because  they  seem  almost  as  intangibly  plastic  as 
this  least  plastic  of  all  the  arts.  Colour-harmonies  they 
truly  are,  with  a weaving  melody  sung  by  the  misty, 
tremulous  vapours  of  dawn,  by  Spring,  with  her  violets 
and  greens  that  smooch  the  tips  of  the  budding  trees, 
by  the  brooks  scarce  murmuring  under  the  twilight’s  last 
caress,  by  the  nymphs  and  dryads  dancing  in  limpid 
moonlight.  It  is  always  a song  that  has  just  begun  that 
Corot’s  brush  has  caught,  and  so  exquisite,  so  full  of  sug- 
gestion is  it  that  the  listener  is  inspired  too  and  fain  goes 
on  to  the  end  of  the  strain,  as  if  he  too  were  poet-singer. 

Technically,  besides  Corot’s  great  attributes  as  a 
colourist,  he  ranks  at  the  very  highest  for  his  wonderful 
feeling  for  values.  No  one  else  has  ever  expressed  more 
perfect  concord  between  sky  and  foliage,  foliage  and  trunk, 
trunk  and  lake  or  stream.  In,  through,  behind  the  woods 


342 


XCbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


of  Corot  you  can  wander,  over  the  lake  you  can  sail,  on 
its  banks  with  the  nymphs  you  too  could  dance.  No 
other  shade  or  tone  could  express  so  perfectly  the  atmos- 
phere that  makes  the  tips  of  the  greenest  twigs  blend 
and  yet  separate  themselves  from  the  softened  sky  that 
is  behind  and  over  them. 

Most  of  Corot’s  later  years  were  spent  with  the  men  he 
loved  so  greatly  in  the  forest  of  Fontainebleau,  and  he 
is  always  spoken  of  as  one  of  the  Barbizon  school  of 
painters. 

The  View'  of  the  Forum,  and  that  of  the  Colosseum, 
were  among  his  earliest  paintings  and  hung  in  his  studio 
till  his  death.  He  always  cared  greatly  for  them,  regard- 
ing them  with  the  affection  a parent  has  for  his  first- 
born, and  at  his  death  he  left  them  to  the  government. 
They  are,  of  course,  in  his  early  manner,  and,  compared 
with  the  landscapes  other  Frenchmen  were  painting  at 
that  time,  were  of  unusual  interest  and  charm.  Compared 
with  his  own  later  works,  however,  they  seem  academic, 
hard  and  needlessly  literal. 

The  picture  called  simply  a Landscape  might  be  titled 
A Lake  where  Morning  Bathes.  Filling  the  middle  plane, 
and  reaching  back  on  one  side  to  a point  of  tree-bowered 
land,  and  on  the  other  to  a horizon  of  a soft  misty  forest, 
lies  this  lake.  It  is  so  luminous  where  the  light  of  the 
morning  spreads  over  it,  so  full  of  mysterious  tender 
shadow  where  the  trees  are  mirrored,  that  it  is  like 
a soft  harmony  heard  from  the  wood-wind  of  an  orchestra, 
— subtle,  deep,  caressing,  with  a tinge  of  melancholy 
that  is  half-ecstatic.  The  big  tree  on  the  right  that 
throws  its  branches  far  over  the  pictured  space  breaks 
the  extent  of  sky  with  its  feathery  twigs  and  heavier 
masses  of  leaves,  and  its  trunks  make  vigorous  accents 
and  balance  the  dark  foreground  of  the  bank.  At  the 


Salle  t»es  Btats 


343 


left  of  this  tree  is  another,  which  is  hardly  more  than  a 
single  weather-bent  stalk.  Here  and  there  along  its  naked 
length  bunches  of  budding  twigs  still  are  sprouting,  and 
a peasant  is  standing  on  tiptoes  to  reach  one  of  the 
lower  ones  of  these  blossom  excrescences.  The  light  that 
flickers  between  the  branches  of  the  large  tree  sweeps 
down  her  arm  and  shoulder  and  touches  both  her  petticoat 
and  the  cluster  she  is  plucking.  At  the  base  of  the  stump 
are  two  children,  one  picking  delicate  flowers  from  the 
ground,  the  other  holding  up  her  arms  for  the  prize 
her  mother  is  securing.  From  the  extreme  right  under 
the  willow,  — if  it  is  a willow  — an  older  peasant  is 
advancing,  her  sunbonnet  just  catching  the  light  that 
sifts  through.  Soft  and  tender  as  this  picture  is,  and  full 
of  the  evanescent  aroma  of  early  spring  and  early  morn- 
ing, there  is  a vigorous  note  struck  in  this  bit  of  peas- 
ant life  thus  introduced.  It  is  as  if  Corot  had  said, 
“ See ! Here  is  fairy-land  all  about  you.  You  need 
not  be  poets  nor  fays  to  see  it.  The  very  peasants  are 
part  of  it.  It  is  their  very  reality,  and  they  can  always 
dwell  within  it.” 

One  of  the  best  known  and  best  loved  of  Corot’s 
works  is  the  other  landscape  called  sometimes  A Morn- 
ing and  sometimes  the  Dance  of  the  Nymphs.  Here  is 
not  only  fairy-land  but  the  inhabitants  thereof  besides. 
And  it  is  a land  and  people  you  are  quite  sure  dear  old 
Pere  Corot  actually  knew.  How  else  could  he  have 
painted  those  dancing  nymphs,  those  laughing  fauns  and 
satyrs,  those  dryads,  with  the  abandon  that  shows  such 
absolute  knowledge  behind?  It  is  all  so  real,  so  spon- 
taneous, so  possible,  that  you  are  quite  sure  you  could 
see  those  very  selfsame  elves  in  that  very  selfsame  glen 
if  only  you  might  get  there  early  enough  in  the  morning. 
Was  ever  such  a delicately  frolicsome  scene  depicted 


344 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


before?  Can  a more  spiritual  gaiety  be  imagined  than 
fills  this  dell  where  the  trees  mass  soft  against  the  sky  of 
dawn,  where  the  brooding  light  rests  across  the  opening 
in  front  of  the  tree-made  bower,  where  the  fields  beyond 
are  all  suffused  in  a bath  of  new-risen  sun?  And  did 
ever  mortal  imagine  before  the  very  essence  of  the  spirit 
of  dance?  Do  those  flying  feet  of  the  woodland  folk 
touch  the  ground  at  all?  Were  ever  butterflies  above 
the  roses  more  full  of  sprit  and  spring?  Was  ever  seen 
a more  abandonment  of  joy  than  in  those  laughing 
fauns  ? Yet  all  this  gaiety,  this  frolicsomeness,  this  quin- 
tessence of  laughter  is  veiled,  etherealized,  spiritualized, 
— what  you  will  — till  it  becomes  as  intangible  as  it  is 
joyous,  as  evanescent  as  it  is  penetrating,  as  dreamlike 
as  it  is  real  — a poet’s  Land  o’  Smiles  where  mortals 
cannot  tread,  but,  seeing,  can  love  and  believe  in  all  the 
more. 

Delaroche’s  Princes  in  the  Tower  in  this  room  is  one 
of  that  painter’s  best-known  works.  It  is  supposed  to 
represent  the  moment  before  the  doomed  boys’  assassina- 
tion. The  great  carved  bed  of  Edward  is  showm  in  one 
of  the  rooms  of  the  Tower.  Sitting  by  its  side,  on  the 
top  of  a high  bench,  the  young  Richard  rests  his  richly 
illuminated  book  on  the  knees  of  his  brother  Edward, 
who  is  seated  on  the  bed  and  leans  upon  his  brother’s 
shoulder.  A small  dog  near  the  foot  of  the  bed  has 
turned  toward  the  door  on  the  other  side  of  which  the 
assassins  are  already  heard.  Richard  has  stopped  his 
reading  and  is  looking  that  way  too,  his  very  evident 
though  silent  dread  plain  on  his  face.  But  Edward  is  too 
ill  and  too  indifferent  even  to  lift  his  eyes  from  their 
sombre  downward  gaze.  The  velvet  suits  of  the  boys 
emphasize  their  pallor  and  their  wretched  plight.  This 
tells  the  story  so  frankly  and  so  fully  that  the  public 


MORNING  (THE  DANCE  OF  THE  NYMPHS) 
By  Corot 


Salle  &es  Etats 


345 


in  general  has  always  adored  it.  It  is  safe  to  say  that 
it  is  its  literary  quality  which  is  mostly  responsible  for 
its  chief  encomiums. 

The  fame  of  the  works  of  Eugene  Delacroix,  seven 
of  which  are  in  this  salle,  rests  upon  something  very  dif- 
ferent. John  La  Farge  places  this  chief  of  the  romantic 
school  of  France  “ alone  of  all  the  painters  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  in  the  line  of  high  expression  which  runs 
from  Giotto  to  Puvis  de  Chavannes.”  This  painter- 
critic  says  further  that  with  Puvis  de  Chavannes  “ he  is 
the  only  one  of  the  French  painters  who  has  any  claim 
to  connection  with  the  great  mural  painters  of  the  past.” 
He  continues,  “ It  is  to  the  eternal  disgrace  of  the  govern- 
ment and  official  influences  that  this  one  most  important 
exemplar  of  decorative  art  had  so  little  opportunity  to 
illustrate  his  nation  by  monumental  work.”  His  ceiling 
in  the  Galerie  d’Apollon  of  the  Louvre  is  one  of  the 
great  achievements  of  any  age  and  makes  the  designs 
of  Le  Brun  that  surround  it  look  more  pompous,  theat- 
rical, unreal  and  overelaborate  than  ever.  There  is  a most 
wonderful  movement  and  swing  to  those  celestial  horses, 
unexcelled  by  the  work  of  any  modern  or  any  ancient 
time.  Far  ahead  of  all  his  contemporaries  in  colour,  a 
remarkable  master  in  line,  in  massing,  in  all  that  goes  to 
make  a superb  composition,  his  “ arrangement  ” is  as  little 
evident  as  in  a Rubens. 

Delacroix,  though  so  bitterly  reviled  by  the  classicists, 
had  really  the  deepest  love  and  reverence  for  the  great 
ancients.  Had  they  but  realized  it,  he  never  transgressed 
the  laws  of  true  classicism.  Indeed  he  carried  them  out 
more  strictly  and  more  wonderfully  than  did  any  of 
those  labelled  “ classic.”  Delacroix  saw  plainly  that  those 
who  merely  copied  the  works  of  the  ancients  were  going 
contrary  to  the  entire  spirit  of  those  who  had  created 


346 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


them.  They  had  been  original,  free,  spontaneous,  living. 
That  was  what  he  also  wished  to  be  and  what  in  a superla- 
tive degree  he  was. 

He  was  the  first  great  French  composer.  His  massing, 
spotting,  harmony  of  line  and  space,  the  entire  extraordi- 
nary ensemble,  with  its  inevitable  climacteric  centre,  its 
gradations  that  lead  as  inevitable  to  that  focus,  — all 
these  proclaim  him  a master  of  masters.  Even  his  de- 
tractors were  forced  to  compare  him  with  Raphael  and 
with  Rubens.  If  he  has  the  balance,  the  compositional 
unity  of  Raphael,  he  has  combined  with  it  the  energy, 
fire,  dramatic  sense  and  colour  of  Rubens.  A poet,  a 
decorator,  a colourist  — those  are  the  three  names  he  has 
been  truly  given,  and  he  is  no  greater  as  one  than  as  the 
other.  Besides  all  this  he  was  never  the  exaggerator,  the 
poseur,  the  extremist  that  the  school  who  claimed  him 
as  master  often  afterward  became. 

The  Bark  of  Dante  on  the  north  wall  of  the  Salle  des 
Etats,  his  first  exhibited  picture,  was  shown  in  the  Salon 
of  1822.  The  story  goes  that,  being  terribly  poor  at  the 
time,  he  sent  the  picture  with  no  frame  except  a rude 
affair  made  of  four  lathes  over  which  he  had  sprinkled 
yellow  paint.  When,  on  the  opening  day  he  hastened  to 
see  whether  it  had  been  accepted,  he  could  find  it  nowhere. 
Suddenly,  just  as  in  despair  he  Avas  about  giving  up 
the  search,  he  discovered  it  in  a fine  frame  in  a place  of 
honour  in  the  Salon  Carre.  It  Avas  Baron  Gros,  Avho,  in 
spite  of  his  academic  predilections,  recognizing  the 
genius  of  this  neAv  painter,  had  had  the  picture  suitably 
framed  and  hung.  And  then  Delacroix,  in  palpitating 
eagerness  and  gratitude  Avent  to  the  big  man’s  studio 
where  he  AA^as  greeted  cordially  and  told  to  “ come  to 
us.  We  will  teach  you  to  draAv.”  Gros  also  said  that 
the  Bark  was  “ Rubens  reformed.”  But  at  Delacroix’s 


Salle  Des  letats 


347 


next  departure  even  the  tolerant  Gros  was  scandalized, 
and  from  that  time  began  the  war  that  waged  about 
Delacroix  so  long  as  he  lived. 

The  colouring  of  this  Bark  of  Dante  is  largely  account- 
able for  its  partial  acceptance  by  the  classicists.  In  a dim, 
sombre  light,  the  open  boat  is  being  propelled  by  Charon 
through  the  waves.  He  is  shown  at  the  stern,  his  body 
nude  save  for  a scarf  that  goes  about  the  upper  part  of 
his  shoulders  and  thighs.  He  stands  back  to,  legs  far 
apart,  his  whole  bent  body  concentrated  upon  the  huge 
oar  which  he  is  pushing  in  front  of  him.  At  the  other  end 
are  Virgil  and  Dante,  the  former  placid,  calm,  unmoved, 
while  Dante,  with  both  hands  outspread,  is  starting  back 
in  terror  at  the  awful  sights  about  them.  Clinging  to  both 
sides  of  the  boat,  whirled  away  by  the  waves,  torn  off 
by  the  frantic  arms  or  feet  of  their  companions,  are  the 
lost  souls  that  the  Styx  devours.  These  figures  are 
marvellous  examples  of  draughtsmanship,  full  of  an 
emotional  intensity  that  contracts  their  muscles,  agonizes 
their  features,  contorts  their  limbs.  The  modelling  of  the 
flesh  is  no  less  astonishing,  and  the  whole  picture  is  a 
creation  genius  alone,  at  any  age,  could  have  produced. 
And  its  painter  was  only  twenty-four. 

The  Massacre  of  Chios  was  exhibited  in  1824.  A 
group  of  the  captured  men,  women  and  children  are 
huddled  together  in  the  foreground,  waiting  in  terror, 
in  stoical  indifference,  or  in  fury  for  what  shall  be  their 
final  disposition  by  the  Turks.  At  the  right,  a Turk  on  a 
rearing  horse  has  bound  a beautiful  nude  Greek  girl 
to  the  back  of  the  plunging  animal.  Her  arms  are 
flung  above  her  head  in  pleading  fright,  but  the  rider 
pays  no  attention  except  to  cut  down  with  his  scimiter 
the  Greek  who  throws  himself  against  the  horse  in  a 
futile  attempt  at  rescue.  In  front  of  this  group  sits  an 


348 


ITbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


elderly  wioman  in  the  costume  of  the  country,  her  head 
turned  toward  her  left  shoulder,  her  eyes  wide  in  anguish, 
but  with  no  sound  coming  from  her  hopeless  lips.  Lean- 
ing against  her,  thrown  flat  on  her  back,  wdth  her  arms 
bound  behind  her  and  the  clothing  gone  from  the  upper 
part  of  her  body,  is  a young  mother,  who  lies  watching 
in  a very  torture  of  helplessness  the  little  naked  babe 
crawling  up  her  breast.  At  the  left  of  these  in  front,  a 
man  and  woman  sit  close  together  against  a rock.  Both 
are  absolutely  quiet,  in  a despair  that  is  emphasized  with 
every  curve  of  the  supple  figures,  and  accented  by  the 
staring,  non-seeing  eyes  of  the  man.  Another  man  and  his 
sweetheart  are  clasped  in  each  other’s  arms.  By  the  side 
of  his  father  a boy  kneels  and  begs  in  terrible  fear. 
Over  all  is  the  brilliant,  palpitating  light,  the  strong,  puls- 
ing colour,  the  juxtaposition  of  vividly  apposite  tones. 

It  took  Delacroix  two  years  to  paint  this  picture,  and 
then,  at  the  end,  when  it  was  already  hung  in  the  Salon, 
he  repainted  almost  every  bit  of  it,  intensifying,  clarifying, 
strengthening,  changing  his  colours  till  they  hummed 
with  a radiance  he  had  never  dreamed  of  before.  It  was 
due  entirely  to  the  works  of  an  Englishman  that  he 
made  such  a radical  innovation.  Just  as  his  picture  A\"as 
carried  to  the  gallery,  he  had  a chance  to  see  two  canvases 
by  Constable  which  had  been  brought  over  from  England. 
The  Briton’s  palette  was  a revelation  to  the  French- 
man. After  a rapid,  eager,  wholesale  study  in  which 
he  appears  to  have  actually  swallowed  the  entire  method 
of  the  foreigner,  he  betook  himself  to  his  o\\ti  canvas,  got 
permission  from  the  authorities,  and  in  a few  days  had 
completely  transformed  it.  If  a certain  rigidity  of  tone 
might  before  have  saved  it  in  the  opinion  of  the  classicists, 
it  stood  no  longer  any  such  chance. 

It  was  with  this  picture  that  Delacroix  began  what  was 


MASSACKE  OF  CHIOS 

By  Delacroix 


Salle  &es  Btats 


349 


an  entirely  new  departure  for  French  art.  All  the 
present-day  attempts  at  colour-effects,  the  impressionists 
themselves,  owe  their  freedom  and  their  brilliancy  to 
this  impetus  which  Delacroix  gave  to  this  side  of  French 
art.  In  his  day,  his  vibratory,  rich  and  sometimes  start- 
ling colour  was  condemned  as  one  of  his  worst  faults. 
Quietness  carried  to  sculptured  rigidity  in  action,  quiet- 
ness, carried  to  monochromatic  tones  in  colour,  quietness, 
carried  to  architectural  solidity  in  grouping,  quietness, 
carried  to  meaningless  vacuity  in  expression,  — that  was 
the  sign  manual  of  the  art  as  Delacroix  found  it.  Little 
wonder  that  such  a stultification  of  academic  rules  and 
principles  found  a rampant  rebel  in  this  Prince  of  Emo- 
tion, this  warrior  in  action,  this  “ Orlando  Furioso-  of 
colourists.” 

The  Twenty-eighth  of  July,  1830,  was  one  of  the  two 
political  pictures  Delacroix  ever  painted.  And  this,  with 
its  enormous  “ heroine  of  the  barricade,”  is  really  an  alle- 
gory. In  her  half-naked  state,  with  her  Phrygian  cap, 
she  but  symbolizes  Liberty,  — Liberty  for  the  state,  for 
the  people,  for  art.  It  was  exhibited  in  1831,  and,  already 
obnoxious  by  its  implied  meaning  to  the  government,  was 
purchased  by  the  direction  of  the  Beaux  Arts,  and  turned 
face  against  the  wall. 

After  this  Delacroix  made  his  journey  to  Morocco, 
and  there  gathered  new  feeling  for  colour,  new  and 
wpnderful  ideas  of  sunlight,  gleaming  sands,  golden 
days,  blue  waters  and  marvellous  Oriental  people.  All 
his  life  he  drew  from  his  memory  of  these  Arabian- 
Nights  days,  and  made  his  pictures  full  of  the  pulsing 
life  of  the  Orient. 

Women  of  Algiers  in  their  Apartment  has  been  com- 
pared to  an  open  jewel-box,  so  gleaming,  transparent, 
varied,  rich,  almost  intoxicating  is  its  colour,  When  it  w'as 


35° 


XTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


exhibited  he  was  accused  by  the  critics  of  having  copied 
Veronese.  In  a room  of  the  harem  whose  walls  are  tiled 
with  faience,  whose  floors  of  marquetry  are  partly  cov- 
ered with  the  soft  rugs  on  which  they  lie,  are  three 
women,  “ half-reclining,”  says  a critic,  “ , . . doing 
nothing,  hardly  holding  their  narghiles  in  their  non- 
chalant fingers,  present  no  prevalence  of  life  and  thought, 
more  than  flowers  or  jewels,  and  so  leave  the  play  of 
colour  undominated  by  any  intellectual  interest.  He 
has  pushed  to  their  maximum  of  splendour,  but  has 
brought  to  a repose  by  a perfect  equilibrium  of  in- 
tensities, the  great  brilliancy,  opulence  and  fulness 
of  colour  of  the  accessories,  — stuffs,  and  faience  and 
walls  of  wonderful  combinations.  He  has  made  use 
of  complementary  contrasts  and  harmonies  of  tints,  and 
of  blacks  and  whites  as  amalgams,  so  to  speak.” 

His  Entry  of  the  Crusaders  into  Constantinople  re- 
sembles, says  Muther,  “ an  old,  delicately  tinted  carpet, 
full  of  powerful,  tranquil  harmony.”  In  its  scheme  of 
colour,  in  action,  it  is  as  full  of  motion,  and  emotion,  as 
are  all  of  Delacroix’s  pictures.  Like  all  of  his  composi- 
tions, too,  the  tone  suits  the  subject.  It  is  a glorious  sight 
to  Christian  eyes  to  see  this  stronghold  of  the  Sultan  cap- 
tured by  Christians,  and  this  feeling  is  emphasized 
in  the  golden  tone  of  the  canvas.  The  very  air  scintil- 
lates as  if  the  oxygen  were  transmuted  gold. 

On  the  same  wall  hangs  Decamps’s  On  the  Towpath. 
With  the  western  sky  all  aglow  with  the  setting  sun, 
the  foreground  of  this  picture  except  as  spots  or  edges 
catch  the  rays,  is  in  heavy  shadow.  The  canal  runs 
straight  across,  and  splashing  through  the  water  come 
the  four  tow-horses.  Only  the  first  two  are  wholly  in  the 
picture,  and  they  fill  the  centre  of  the  composition. 
Behind  them  at  the  extreme  right  are  seen  the  heads  of 


Salle  &es  ]£tats 


351 

the  following  two.  Mounted  squarely  sidewise,  as  if 
sitting  on  a bench,  with  both  feet  hanging  straight  over 
the  left  of  the  white  horse,  is  the  driver,  a deep  silhou- 
ette against  the  glowing  sky.  High  in  air  he  holds  his 
whip,  preparatory  to  using  it  to  urge  the  horses  forward. 
Absolutely  anatomically  correct  the  great  animals  un- 
doubtedly are  not,  yet  surely  no  photograph  ever  pre- 
sented a more  vivid  picture  of  seeming  truth.  The 
heavy  muscles,  the  strain  on  the  big  necks,  the  pull  and 
pressure  everywhere,  seem  not  only  real  but  exact.  At 
the  left  in  the  middle  distance  is  a slender  tree,  near  by 
a peasant  driving  a flock  of  geese  and  at  the  right  are  an 
inn  or  dwelling  and  other  peasants  at  the  door.  All 
are  dark  against  the  luminous  sky. 

Another  “ stem-picture  ” is  Diaz’s  Under  the  Trees, 
which  is  only  a sketch.  In  it  again,  are  the  big,  lapping, 
spreading  branches,  the  depths  of  forest  behind,  the 
glinting  light,  and  over  all  the  shimmer  no  one  has  ever 
painted  so  well  as  he. 

Hippolyte  Flandrin  has  three  canvases  in  this  salle. 
The  one  called  simply  Figure  Study  is  well  known  by 
reproductions.  It  represents  the  nude  figure  of  a young 
man  seated  in  profile  on  a rock  at  the  edge  of  the  sea. 
His  knees  are  drawn  up,  his  head  bent  upon  them,  while 
his  arms  are  brought  around,  his  left  hand  clasping  the 
wrist  of  his  right  in  front.  His  profile  is  lost  in  shadow, 
only  the  cheek,  ear  and  hair  being  in  full  view.  The 
drawing  of  this  figure  is  as  beautiful  as  it  is  marvellously 
true.  There  is  a very  fine  feeling  shown  for  form  and 
contour  and  the  modelling  while  full  is  not  overdone. 

The  Portrait  of  a Young  Girl  is  neither  so  well  done 
nor  so  well  known.  The  maiden  is  seated  in  profile,  the 
picture  cut  just  below  the  waist,  and  only  partly  showing 
the  crossed  arms  and  hands,  one  of  which  holds  a closed 


352 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


book.  A soft  shadow  submerges  the  delicate  profile, 
her  curling  hair  is  bound  with  a black  velvet  band  and 
wound  into  a large  knot  at  the  base  of  her  neck.  The 
waist  of  white  muslin  is  slightly  open  exposing  the  soft 
lines  of  throat  and  neck.  The  modelling  is  exquisite, 
the  drawing  pure  and  fine. 

Flandrin  was  a pupil  of  Ingres  and  carried  out  in  his 
works  the  principles  of  his  master  with  a faithfulness 
and  sincerity,  that,  if  proving  he  was  not  highly  endowed 
with  originality,  at  least  proclaimed  him  a remarkably 
perfect  draughtsman,  a lover  of  pure  line  and  contour, 
a zealous  and  most  conscientious  worker.  As  a rule  he 
paid  no  more  attention  to  colour  than  did  any  of  the 
classic  school.  He  became  a very  noted  religious 
painter  and  was  the  first  since  Le  Sueur  to  show  true 
spiritual  feeling  in  his  works.  If  they  are  little  more 
than  assimilations  of  the  fifteenth-century  Italians,  they 
are  full  of  real  feeling,  and  have  a purity  of  line  and 
form  not  often  seen.  His  one  specialty  outside  of  these 
religious  paintings  may  be  said  to  be  the  portraiture  of 
young  girls.  No  resemblance  can  be  found  in  these 
gentle,  pensive,  nun-like  maidens  to  the  coquettish, 
roguish,  sentimental  creations  of  Greuze,  that  other 
French  painter  of  maidenhood. 

Two  great  canvases  by  Constant  Troyon  hang  on 
opposite  sides  of  this  Salle  des  Etats.  Until  the  open- 
ing of  the  Thomy-Thi6ry  collection  these  were  the  only 
Troyons  the  Louvre  owned. 

Oxen  Going  to  Work  is  the  name  of  the  picture  by 
which  Troyon  is  probably  best  known  throughout  the 
Western  world.  Probably,  too,  he  never  surpassed  this 
during  all  the  years  of  his  artistic  life.  One  is  inclined 
to  go  still  farther  and  say  that  probably,  also,  no  one  else 
has  ever  surpassed  it.  Whether  one  speaks  of  the  broad 


OXEN  GOING  TO  WORK. 


Salle  &es  Btats 


353 


extent  of  fields  smoking  under  the  early  rays  of  the  sun, 
of  the  glowing,  sun-bathed  sky,  of  the  heavy,  patient 
oxen,  — of  any  part  or  of  the  whole  of  this  composition, 
only  superlatives  rise  to  the  lips. 

Over  a rough  roadway,  through  a deeply  furrowed 
field  where  vegetation  is  scarce  and  where  heather  and 
grass  grow  in  hummocks,  advancing  straight  toward  the 
spectator  come  the  six  huge  oxen  with  their  driver. 
Yoked  two  by  two,  the  three  couples  follow  one  after 
another,  the  first  two  close  together,  the  third  farther 
behind  and  a trifle  at  the  right  of  the  first  group.  At  the 
left  walks  the  driver  with  his  long  sharp  prod,  and  at 
the  moment  he  is  looking  over  his  shoulder  at  the  two 
loitering  behind.  On  each  side  stretch  the  wide  fields, 
sloping  gently  upward  to  the  horizon-line  that  is  blurred 
with  low  clustering  trees.  At  the  left  are  more  cattle 
with  their  drivers  and  over  all  the  glowing  early  morning 
sky.  It  is  this  feeling  of  the  morning,  the  light  of 
it,  the  freshness,  the  haze,  that  is  perhaps  the  most 
wonderful  effect  of  the  picture.  You  catch  the  very 
breath  of  those  early  breezes  that  are  hardly  more  than 
vapours.  You  feel  the  exhilaration  of  the  air  that  comes 
like  a soft  puff  from  the  awakening  sky.  You  are 
enveloped  in  that  wonderful  tenderness  of  colouring  of 
the  world  not  yet  wholly  unveiled  by  the  inquisitive  sun. 
In  fact  you  are  bodily  as  well  as  mentally  taken  into  the 
very  atmosphere,  into  the  very  spot  itself.  It  is  as  if  a 
great  window  had  suddenly  been  opened  out  of  a stifling 
room,  and  through  it  out  in  the  open,  nature  is  at  her 
morning  bath.  As  for  the  oxen  themselves,  though 
mostly  felt  as  merely  a part  of  all  this  wakening  world, 
they  are  fully  as  marvellous  in  their  own  way.  Great, 
plodding,  patient  beasts,  you  feel  and  see  the  tramp  of 
their  heavy  feet.  You  smell  the  sweetness  of  their 


354 


XTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


steaming  breaths,  you  feel  the  ponderous  weight  of  the 
mighty  flanks.  Thrown  against  the  sky,  they  are  in  a 
shadow  as  luminous  almost  as  light  itself.  One  of  the 
minor  though  delightful  details  is  the  way  Troyon  indi- 
cated the  high  lights  where  their  horns  or  backs  or  legs 
catch  the  unbroken  rays  of  the  sun. 

Troyon  has  been  called  a painter  pure  and  simple, 
indicating  that  he  was  no  poet.  Yet  here,  surely  is 
poetry.  Poetry  of  the  early  morning,  poetry  of  the 
plodding  beasts,  poetry  of  the  mist  and  haze.  It  is 
modern,  intensely  modern,  and  as  real  as  day  and  night, 
but  none  the  less  is  it  full  of  a poetry  that  is  as  beautiful 
as  it  is  vigorous. 

If  this  picture  palpitates  with  the  colour,  the  light,  the 
freshness  of  morning.  The  Return  to  the  Farm  exhales 
the  calm,  the  softness,  perhaps  the  heaviness  of  the 
dying  day.  Only  the  yapping  dog  and  the  hastening 
feet  of  the  home-going  animals  give  a certain  vivifying 
note  to  the  silence  that  otherwise  broods  over  the  scene. 
The  sky  is  full  of  clouds,  the  trees  that  mass  at  the  turn 
of  the  road  are  already  catching  the  gloom  of  the  coming 
twilight,  the  shadows  of  the  herd  stretch  long  across  the 
roadway,  and  the  sheep  and  cows  themselves  are  fairly 
bathed  in  the  last  effulgence  of  the  dropping  sun. 

Ten  or  a dozen  sheep  are  at  the  right  in  the  immediate 
foreground.  Their  sharp  little  hoofs  beat  a quick  tattoo 
on  the  hard  road,  and  they  are  jostling  one  another  in 
their  eagerness  for  home.  At  the  left,  in  the  centre  of 
the  picture,  two  cows  advance,  and  they  too,  hurry  their 
steps.  Farther  still  to  the  left  more  of  them  have  stopped 
to  wander  down  the  bank  for  a last  nibble,  and  two  have 
gone  into  a pool  for  a drink.  Behind  the  flock  trots  a 
little  ass,  like  the  rear-guard  of  a procession,  and  ahead 
of  all,  running  and  barking  and  full  of  the  importance 


Salle  Des  Etats 


355 


of  his  position  is  the  dog  who  apparently  feels  that  the 
whole  care  of  the  journey  rests  upon  him.  This  picture 
was  first  exhibited  in  1859,  in  1865,  after  his  death, 
was  given  by  Troyon’s  mother  to  the  government. 

Troyon,  like  Dupre  and  Diaz  as  well  as  others  was 
first  in  the  painting  department  of  a porcelain  factory,  and 
it  took  him  many  years  to  outgrow  entirely  the  habits 
there  formed.  In  1847  he  went  to  Holland  and  it  is 
due  to  the  influence  of  Rembrandt  and  Van  Cuyp  that 
his  work  became  so  much  stronger  and  more  real.  After 
that  he  was  in  Barbizon  with  Rousseau  and  the  others 
of  the  outdoor  painters  and  gradually  his  pictures  grew 
to  be  the  brilliant,  truthful  transcriptions  of  nature  that 
they  were.  As  a painter  of  cattle  in  landscape  of  which 
they  are  an  integral  part,  he  has  never  had  a rival.  On 
the  other  hand  too,  his  landscapes  themselves  were 
always  as  important,  as  truth-telling,  as  beautiful,  as  his 
animals.  He  had  a much  less  difficult  time  than  many 
of  his  contemporaries,  achieving  earlier  than  most  a 
popular  success.  He  received  the  decoration  of  Cheva- 
lier of  the  Legion  of  Honour  in  1849,  the  same  year  it  was 
given  to  Daubigny,  and  from  that  date  he  could  almost 
treble  the  prices  for  his  works.  His  education,  save  in 
his  own  art  was  very  slight,  almost  rudimentary. 

Wholly  different  was  the  education  of  the  peasant  and 
the  painter  of  peasants,  Jean  Frangois  Millet,  four  of 
whose  canvases  hang  in  this  room.  For  though  Millet 
was  not  only  the  son  but  the  grandson  of  Normandy  peas- 
ants, he  inherited  nevertheless  artistic  and  intellectual 
gifts  from  his  forbears.  When,  at  the  age  of  eighteen  he 
went  to  Cherbourg  to  study  painting,  he  could  already 
read  his  Bible  and  Virgil  in  Latin.  And  during  his 
several  years  there  he  spent  his  nights  studying  Homer 
and  Shakespeare,  Milton  and  Scott,  Goethe  and  Byron, 


356 


Ube  Hrt  ot  tbe  Xouvre 


Victor  Hugo  and  Chateaubriand.  During  all  his  life 
Millet  was  a great  reader,  and  his  sympathy  and  under- 
standing of  the  peasant’s  life  was  founded  not  only  on 
personal  experience  but  on  his  wide  humanitarian  studies. 

By  dint  of  tremendous  family  sacrifices  Millet  finally 
went  to  Paris  where  he  entered  the  studio  of  Delaroche. 
A more  uncongenial  pair  could  scarcely  be  imagined. 
Millet  at  best  was  never  teachable  and  under  the  man 
who  was  posing  as  the  great  pacificator  between  the 
romantic  and  classic  schools  he  became  even  less  so. 
Delaroche  for  his  part  acknowledged  the  talent  of  the 
country  boy,  but  did  not  try  to  do  much  for  him.  It  was 
not  till  Millet  got  into  the  Louvre  and  studied  the  great 
men  there  on  the  walls,  that  his  spirit  found  what  seemed 
worthy  of  copying.  Now  began  the  years  of  poverty  and 
struggle  that  lasted  almost  as  long  as  IMillet  lived. 
He  took  to  making  little  pictures  after  the  style  of 
Boucher,  finding  that  that  was  the  only  kind  of  art 
he  could  persuade  the  public  to  buy.  Then  he  painted 
portraits  for  five  and  ten  francs  apiece  or  little  genre 
subjects  for  as  much  as  twenty,  or  sign-boards,  or  any- 
thing he  could  find  to  do.  Until  after  his  first  wife 
died,  which  was  in  1844,  IHiHet’s  colouring  was  marked 
with  purity  and  clarity  and  his  flesh-tones  were  soft, 
glowing  and  full  of  brilliance.  Diaz,  Rousseau  and 
Jacque  saw  his  talent  and  loved  the  man  and  from  then 
on  began  the  friendship  that  lasted  throughout  their 
lives.  In  these  years  he  was  called  the  “ klaster  of  the 
Nude,”  and  his  little  figures  were  full  of  charm  and  grace 
and  colour,  as  unlike  as  possible  the  Millet  kno^\^l  to-day. 
It  was  a curious  accident  that  finally  forced  him  out 
of  this  line  of  work.  One  day  he  overheard  some  one 
say  while  looking  at  a pastel  of  a woman  bathing,  that 
it  was  by  that  “ fellow  named  Millet  who  always  paints 


Salle  Btats 


357 


naked  women.”  That  was  enough.  The  pure-minded 
peasant  from  that  time  entirely  renounced  the  style  and 
subjects  which  were  beginning  to  bring  him  both  recogni- 
tion and  a fairly  good  living.  He  began  at  once  to  paint 
only  what  he  had  always  longed  to  paint  — scenes  of 
peasant  life.  His  second  wife,  the  brave  Catherine  Le 
Marie  knew  the  hardships  that  were  probably  in  store, 
but  she  was  willing  to  face  them. 

The  year  1848,  with  two  or  three  children  and  almost 
no  commissions  was  a terrible  strain  on  husband  and 
wife.  Once  the  whole  family  lived  for  two  weeks  on 
less  than  six  dollars  which  he  had  earned  painting  a 
sign-board.  Finally  when  the  Revolution  broke  out,  dis- 
gusted with  the  life,  worn  out  with  the  city  noise,  sham 
and  frauds,  he  and  Jacque  agreed  to  go  to  Barbizon  for 
the  summer.  Before  the  end  of  the  month  they  were 
there  and  Millet  had  rented  the  little  house  which  was 
to  be  his  home  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  Rousseau  was 
already  settled  near  by  and  so  began  the  colony  that  has 
since  become  so  famous  under  the  name  of  the  Barbizon 
school.  In  the  dull  little  plain  that  stretched  from  the 
Fontainebleau  forest  to  Chailly,  the  tiny  town  where 
Barbizon  folks  went  to  get  married  or  buried,  the  peas- 
ants were  at  work  all  the  year  round,  and  here  was  where 
Millet  found  the  subjects  for  his  cycle  of  peasant  life. 

His  own  life  was  hard  and  difficult  enough.  Purchasers 
for  the  first  ten  years  were  almost  a minus  quantity. 
If  it  had  not  been  for  the  generosity  of  his  artist  friends 
Millet  would  many  times  have  been  in  even  more  des- 
perate straits  than  he  was.  In  1855,  under  the  guise  of 
a rich  American  Rousseau  bought  his  Paysan  Greffant, 
and  Corot  and  Diaz  were  always  ready  with  a helping 
hand  for  the  man  they  loved  and  whose  talent  they 
revered.  His  Angelus  was  finished  in  1859,  but  it  was 


358 


XCbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


months  before  it  sold  for  a small  fraction  of  what  less 
than  fifteen  years  after  it  brought  the  first  purchaser. 
And  in  that  same  year  the  Salon  refused  La  IMort  et  la 
Bucheron,  which  was  founded  on  a La  Fontaine  fable. 
This  was  a crushing  blow  to  Millet  for  he  felt  keenly  that 
it  was  aimed  directly  at  himself  as  a man.  He  was  being 
called  at  this  time  a revolutionist,  a demagogue,  a St. 
Simonist,  and  his  glorious  Gleaners  was  declared  a pro- 
mulgation of  most  seditionary  messages.  It  is  amazing 
to  reflect  that  it  was  the  subjects  Millet  chose  that  kept 
him  from  being  either  a popular  or  an  academic  success. 
If  he  had  but  returned  to  his  nymphs,  nudes  and  alle- 
gories he  could  have  had  fame,  commissions,  riches.  It 
is  a debt  that  posterity  can  never  repay  that  he  was  not 
to  be  beguiled  by  any  promise  of  material  prosperity  to 
resign  his  chosen  work.  And  finally,  when  in  1864  his 
Bergere  was  exhibited,  he  found  himself  at  length,  pop- 
ular. For  three  years  the  dire  extremity  that  Millet  had 
so  often  known  was  a thing  of  the  past.  In  1868  he 
won  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honour  and  in  ’70  was 
made  one  of  the  jurors  of  the  Salon.  And  then  the  state 
gave  him  a commission  for  a series  of  historical  paint- 
ings for  the  Pantheon.  But  the  order  came  too  late. 
Only  the  preliminary  studies  were  completed  when, 
January  20,  1875,  this  great  poet  of  peasant  life  passed 
away. 

Of  his  works  in  the  Louvre,  the  Gleaners  is  by  far  the 
greatest  as  it  is  one  of  the  greatest  that  he  ever  painted. 
Against  the  horizon  at  the  right  are  the  roofs  of  a 
little  hamlet  among  the  trees ; at  the  left,  two  mammoth 
stacks  of  grain.  Between  these  two  extremes  come  the 
grain-cart  and  horses,  the  workers  cutting  and  stacking 
the  full  harvest  and  the  overseer  on  horseback  ordering 
the  work.  In  the  immediate  foreground  are  three  peasant 


THE  GLEANERS 


<9 


Salle  &CS  lEtats 


359 


women  picking  from  the  barren,  stubble-field  the  scat- 
tering blades  the  reapers  have  left  behind.  Over  all  is 
the  atmosphere  of  a hot,  cloudless  August  day.  This  is 
the  outline  of  the  picture  that  raised  such  a storm  of 
abuse  on  its  exhibition.  Why  ? It  represents  in  simplest, 
most  unexaggerated  manner  a scene  as  common  in  the 
French  fields  as  harvesting  itself.  It  is  as  unadorned  and 
direct  as  a fable  of  La  Fontaine,  but  quite  without  its 
moral.  At  least  its  author  does  not  insist  upon  the 
moral.  That  is  left  for  the  observer  himself  to  apply. 
And  this  is  undoubtedly  the  real  reason  for  the  vitupera- 
tions. The  spectator,  be  he  ever  so  careless  or  callous 
can  scarcely  help  feeling  the  inner  significance  of  the 
picture.  The  rough  field  in  front,  where  the  broken,  un- 
reaped blades  of  grain  are  so  few,  so  mean ; the  bent, 
toil-worn  figures  of  the  three  women  with  their  piteously 
scanty  bundles  of  the  precious  spears  in  their  jealous 
hands ; the  hot,  scorching  sun  over  their  heads ; and 
behind,  the  heaped-up  riches  of  the  owner  of  the  soil. 
That  is  all.  But  could  the  pathetic,  insecure,  toilsome, 
hungering  life  of  the  peasant  be  more  poignantly  ex- 
pressed? Or  could  any  words  heighten  the  description 
of  the  difference  between  their  life  and  that  of  the  rich 
husbandman  behind  them?  And  yet  it  is  not  too  much 
to  say  as  has  indeed  often  been  said,  that  Millet  had 
no  intention  in  painting  this  or  any  other  picture  actually 
to  draw  a moral  or  preach  a sermon,  or  even  to 
emphasize  the  inequality  between  the  poor  labourer  and 
the  landowner.  He  was  too  true  an  artist  so  to  mis- 
use his  brush.  His  whole  heart  and  soul  and  his  entire 
artistic  consciousness  were  bound  up  in  the  life  of 
the  plains  about  him.  Pictures,  pictures  everywhere, 
his  poet’s  eyes  saw,  and  saw  so  simply  that  it  almost 


360 


Ubc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


seems  as  if  he  never  had  to  make  that  choice  and  selection 
which  is  generally  the  first  effort  of  the  artistic  mind. 

In  the  Gleaners  there  is  a vividness,  a luminosity,  a 
most  marvellous  atmospheric  effect  that  fairly  envelops 
the  spectator  as  well  as  the  scene.  It  ranks,  perhaps,  after 
his  Angelus  and  the  Sower,  lacking  as  it  does  a certain 
mystic  austerity  so  strongly  possessed  by  those  two  works, 
but  its  wonderful  clarity,  its  feeling  of  " plein  air,"  its 
pathos  and  significance,  make  it  a great  poem  of  the 
peasant  life. 

In  Spring,  a grass-grown  roadway  through  an  apple- 
orchard  in  bloom  leads  to  a village  at  the  back  whose 
thatched  roofs  show  among  the  trees.  A storm  has 
been  drenching  the  country,  but  already  the  rainbow 
shines  over  the  clouds,  and  the  freshness  of  the  water- 
soaked  earth  and  dripping  trees  fills  the  canvas.  The 
whole  picture  breathes  an  air  of  pulsing  spring  to  which 
the  soft,  clear  colours  add  a delicate  force.  The  general 
tones  are  a dark  gray,  light  green  and  browm,  wdth  here 
and  there  reds,  whites  and  yellows  and  a bit  of  blue  in 
the  frock  of  the  man  under  the  apple-tree  at  the  end 
of  the  path.  It  is  thickly  and  heavily  painted  and  is 
quite  without  the  brilliance  of  a Monet.  But  it  has  a feel- 
ing of  the  spirit  of  spring  itself. 

The  Church  of  Greville  was  bought  by  the  state  after 
his  death  in  its  present  unfinished  condition.  The 
quaint  old  church  with  is  square  low  tower  and  over- 
hanging roof,  is  built  upon  a cliif.  In  the  distance  is  a 
glimpse  of  the  sea  and  in  front  on  the  path  going  by  the 
church  are  a man  and  two  sheep.  About  the  clock-tower 
myriads  of  birds  are  flying.  The  gray  stones  of  the 
church  set  the  general  scheme  of  colour.  This  is  varied 
by  the  thin  greens  about  the  path  and  in  the  trees  showing 
over  the  roofs  of  the  village  behind. 


OPENING  IN  THE  FOREST  AT  FONTAINEBLEAU 


Salle  &es  jEtats 


361 


The  Bathers  are  two  women,  one  of  whom,  seated 
upon  a hillock  is  helping  her  companion  to  go  into  the 
water.  This  was  painted  by  Millet  when  he  was  still 
the  “ painter  of  nude  women,”  and  has  the  fresh  colour 
and  grace  of  that  period. 

Rousseau,  the  first  of  the  painters  to  go  to  Barbizon,  has 
five  canvases  in  this  room.  Of  these,  the  Opening  in  the 
Forest  at  Fontainebleau,  is  one  of  his  greatest  works 
and  is  in  a more  completely  finished  condition  than 
usual  with  him.  It  shows  his  love  of  differentiating  the 
details  of  a landscape  and  is  a wonderful  example  of  his 
power  to  do  this  without  sacrificing  in  the  least  the 
homogeneity  and  effect  of  it  as  a whole.  The  foreground, 
with  its  weeds,  rocks,  twigs  and  bushes  is  carefully  and 
conscientiously  worked  out,  yet  the  eye  does  not  linger 
over  it  too  long.  It  is  carried  at  once  to  the  centre  of 
interest,  — the  cows  grazing  and  drinking  in  and  near  the 
shallow  pools  of  the  sun-bathed  marsh.  Old  moss-growm 
oaks  make  a frame  for  this  scene,  their  branches  inter- 
locking thickly  overhead.  The  sky,  dropping  down  to  a 
low  horizon-line,  marked  by  soft  masses  of  low  trees  and 
hills,  is  suffused  with  the  glory  of  the  setting  sun  still 
partly  visible  over  the  low  hills  at  the  left.  From  there, 
the  fields  all  in  their  sunset  dress  stretch  forward  to 
where  one  lone  tree  breaks  the  opening  made  by  the 
framing  oaks.  This  tree  stands  almost  in  a pool,  and  its 
old  bent  trunk  sweeps  over  far  to  the  right,  its  full  plume 
of  foliage  catching  some  of  the  light  of  the  sky,  thus 
making  a satisfying  break  between  the  heavy  darkness 
of  the  oaks  on  each  side  and  the  brightness  of  the  sky 
and  fields  beyond.  Beneath  the  branches  the  cows  are 
grazing  and  beyond,  nearer  the  horizon  is  a larger  herd. 
The  picture  is  one  of  the  great  masterpieces  of  the 
French  school  of  landscape-painting,  and  is  full  of  vigour 


362 


XTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvrc 


yet,  like  most  of  Rousseau’s,  is  wonderfully  serene.  The 
richness  of  the  colouring,  the  fineness  of  composition, 
the  splendid  balance  of  the  whole,  are  characteristic  of 
Rousseau  at  his  best. 

The  Marsh  shows  a wide,  flat  district  half-inundated 
with  pools  and  rivulets.  At  the  right  in  the  middle 
distance  a thin  line  of  firs  stretches  nearly  to  the  centre 
of  the  picture.  Behind  them,  and  reaching  all  the  way 
across  the  horizon  are  the  snow-capped  Pyrenees  half- 
lost  in  the  clouds.  The  centre  of  the  composition,  and  of 
the  interest,  is  the  herd  of  cattle  drinking  the  water  of 
the  pools  or  wading  knee-deep  through  them.  Dark 
brown,  light  cream  and  spotted  animals,  they  are  painted 
as  Rousseau  always  painted  them,  vigorously,  surely, 
living  embodiments  of  the  solidity,  strength  and  stupidity 
of  their  race.  The  sky  of  this  painting  is  possibly  a 
little  leaden,  but  as  a whole  there  is  exquisite  feeling  es- 
pecially in  the  distance  of  the  vast  expanse  reaching  to 
the  mountains.  The  canvas  was  bought  by  the  govern- 
ment in  1881  for  129,000  francs. 

In  The  Storm,  a wide  flat  plain  stretches  out  to  a low 
hill  rising  above  the  centre  of  the  horizon-line.  On  the 
crest  of  the  hill  are  three  windmills  and  at  the  foot  a 
stream  spreads  from  one  side  of  the  picture  to  the  other. 
In  the  foreground  is  nothing  but  the  arid,  flat  plain,  the 
grasses  and  rushes  already  bending  under  the  oncoming 
storm.  The  sky  is  crowded  with  dark  menacing  clouds 
and  everywhere  are  the  force  and  power  of  the  tempest 
about  to  break. 

Along  the  River  is  exactly  what  its  title  designates.  A 
river  opens  out  almost  unbroken  to  the  horizon-line,  only 
low  points  of  land  covered  with  trees  or  bushes  sepa- 
rating it  from  the  sky.  In  the  foreground  it  flows  into 
a sort  of  double  inlet  or  bay  bordered  with  trees  and 


Salle  &es  Etats 


363 


shrubs  yellowed  by  the  sun.  A skiff  is  pulled  up  to  a 
point  of  land  breaking  one  of  these  indentations  and  a 
fisherman  sits  within  it  arranging  his  tackle.  The  sky  is 
misty. 

Rousseau  has  been  called  the  father  of  modern  French 
landscape  art.  Yet  for  almost  all  his  life  he  was  com- 
bated, scorned  or  ignored.  From  1836  till  1848,  he  was 
denied  admittance  to  the  Salon  for  what  was  regarded  as 
his  unauthorized  style  of  painting,  and  even  after  the 
Revolution  of  1849  when  the  jury  of  the  Salon  was 
chosen  from  among  the  artists  themselves,  though  he 
was  at  first  loudly  acclaimed  as  the  greatest  landscape- 
painter  living,  things  continued  to  go  badly  with  him. 
So  far  as  his  treatment  at  the  Salon  is  concerned,  he 
never  received  the  honours  that,  in  the  judgment  of  the 
first  critics  of  to-day  he  should  have  had.  He  was  finally 
made  Chevalier  of  the  Legion  of  Honour,  but  that  was 
as  high  a rank  as  was  ever  accorded  him.  And  for  years 
the  classic  hostility  was  so  great  that  he  was  never  either 
decorated  nor  half-decently  hung  at  the  Salon.  It  is  an 
indication  of  a curious  state  of  art  in  France  when  even 
to-day  the  adherents  of  what  must  still  be  called  the 
classic  school  are  so  bitter  against  all  those  whose  ideas 
of  art,  of  beauty,  and  of  the  way  of  rendering  nature 
do  not  agree  with  theirs.  So  taken  for  granted  is  this 
condition  of  affairs  that  it  occasioned  no  surprise  when, 
only  a few  years  ago,  two  of  the  most  famous  of  France’s 
painters  declared  that  if  they  had  the  chance  to-day  they 
would  never  allow  a Millet  or  a Rousseau  to  be  exhibited 
in  the  Salon.  Such  is  the  antagonism  between  the  two 
so-called  “ schools.” 

But  with  Rousseau  it  was  not  only  the  Salon  that  used 
him  hardly.  Dealers  were  even  worse  in  their  treatment 
of  him  for  nearly  all  his  life.  Men  whom  Rousseau  made 


364 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


wealthy  returned  to  him  a mere  fraction  of  the  money 
his  works  brought  them.  And  while  they  were  growing 
rich  the  tormented  painter  was  struggling  along  under 
big  debts,  an  insane  wife  and  his  own  incompetency  in 
business  affairs.  By  fits  and  starts,  to  be  sure,  he  man- 
aged to  down  the  demon  of  poverty,  and  it  was  during  one 
of  these  breathing  spaces  that  he  impersonated  the  rich 
American  and  bought  the  picture  from  the  starving  Millet 
for  four  thousand  francs.  These  two  men  were  always 
close  friends  and  it  was  in  the  arms  of  the  painter  of  the 
Angelus  that  Rousseau  died. 

Rousseau  is  noted  not  only  for  his  direct  return  to 
nature,  but  for  his  wonderful  knowledge  of  all  sorts  of 
vegetations.  It  was  not  enough  for  him  to  represent  any 
kind  of  a tree  or  a vague  order  of  underbrush.  He 
worked  over  every  trunk,  every  branch,  almost  every 
leaf,  till  the  absolute  portrait  of  each  w’as  obtained.  The 
rocks,  the  bushes,  the  flowers,  the  weeds,  the  grass,  he 
differentiated  them  all  and  gave  to  all  the  exact  forms, 
lines  and  colours  that  Mother  Nature  herself  had  be- 
stowed upon  them.  Yet,  in  spite  of  such  a display  of 
knowledge  and  such  an  amount  of  painstaking  detail. 
Rousseau  did  not  lose  his  ensemble.  Almost  never  did 
the  minute  care  or  attention  to  the  most  luxuriant  of 
foregrounds,  middle  distances  or  backgrounds  spoil  the 
effect  of  the  picture  as  a whole. 

Even  with  the  bitter  disappointments  that  came  to  both 
Millet  and  Rousseau,  they  made  no  attempt  to  wage  war 
against  their  enemies.  All  they  asked  was  a chance  to 
work  as  seemed  best  to  them,  in  peace  and  quiet,  with 
decent  remuneration  and  appreciation.  No  such  attitude 
was  taken  by  Courbet,  whose  motto,  “ Paint  only  what 
you  see  ” became  the  motto  for  the  impressionists. 
Courbet  was  as  great  an  iconoclast  in  his  line  as  was 


Salle  Des  Btats 


365 


ever  Martin  Luther  in  his.  In  politics  a Republican,  he 
got  embroiled  in  all  sorts  of  political  troubles  and  finally 
in  1871,  charged  with  being  wholly  responsible  for  the 
demolition  of  the  Vendome  Column,  he  was  arrested  and 
fined  for  its  entire  cost  of  restoration,  some  four  hundred 
thousand  francs.  He  died  across  the  border  in  Switzer- 
land, a ruined  and  most  unhappy  artist.  Yet,  if  ever  art 
needed  the  virile  force,  the  unblinded  eyes,  the  unafraid 
brush,  the  whole  point  of  view  of  this  unquenchable, 
masculine  nature,  it  was  when  he  came  upon  the  scene, 
and  stigmatized  the  Lcole  des  Beaux  Arts,  and  its  classi- 
cal traditions  as  pure  and  unmitigated  rubbish.  It  is  to 
his  aggressiveness  that  much  of  the  freedom  of  French 
art  is  to-day  due.  As  has  been  said,  his  method  was 
very  different  from  that  of  most  of  the  Barbizon  men. 
He  was  determined  to  convince  the  world  that  the  world 
was  all  wrong  and  he  waged  an  unceasing,  blatant  war- 
fare that,  if  proving  himself  egoist  of  egoists,  did  much 
to  teach  the  younger  generation  that  each  artist  must 
see  for  himself,  by  himself. 

In  the  Salle  des  Etats,  his  Wounded  Man  is  one  of 
his  famous  canvases.  Here  his  overwhite  flesh  shows  to 
advantage  and  adds  to  the  gruesomeness  and  actuality 
of  the  injured  man. 

The  two  pictures  of  Deer,  in  their  forest  homes  are 
full  of  Courbet’s  love  of  primeval  nature.  One  can  almost 
smell  the  bark  and  turf.  As  critics  have  said,  however, 
Courbet  is  not  greatest  in  his  outdoor  scenes,  because 
in  spite  of  a very  real  portrait  of  nature  in  her  world- 
dress,  he  has  forgotten  the  veil  of  atmosphere  that  she 
always  throws  between  herself  and  her  most  ardent  lover. 
What  Corot  felt  most  and  is  always  telling,  Courbet  never 
saw  and  as  little  felt.  Nevertheless  these  woodland  depths 


366  ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 

have  a freshness,  a verve,  a veritable  shout  of  youth  and 
spring. 

Until  the  gift  of  the  Thomy-Thiery  collection  the 
Louvre  had  a very  inadequate  representation  of  Daubigny 
in  the  two  canvases  in  the  Salle  des  Etats.  Daubigny, 
who  began  by  painting  classical  figure  subjects  might 
have  been  merely  a mediocre  academic  figure-painter  if 
an  accident  had  not  kept  him  away  when  his  name  was 
called  to  enter  the  competition  for  the  Prix  de  Rome. 
Disappointed  in  this  way,  he  then  turned  his  attention 
strictly  to  the  painting  of  landscape.  He  was  perhaps 
less  original,  less  inspired  than  most  of  the  others  of 
the  Barbizon  school.  His  work  shows  the  influence  at 
times  of  Millet,  of  Corot,  of  Rousseau,  and  he  was  less  an 
interpreter  of  nature  than  her  photographer.  He  loved 
her  devotedly  however,  and  his  canvases  show  an  intimate 
friendship,  a deep  feeling  for  all  the  simplest  sights  and 
views.  Gray  murmuring  water,  silvery  Spring  all  apple- 
blossom-laden,  old  boats  drawn  to  a marshy  shore,  fields 
of  waving  corn,  mills  working  by  sputtering  streams,  — 
it  is  the  homely,  daily  life  about  the  river  Oise  that  he 
loves  best  and  paints  best.  His  work  too,  is  full  of  a 
delicious  vapour,  a softness  of  air  and  atmosphere  that 
can  be  fairly  felt.  It  is  not  surprising  that  the  con- 
sumptive boy,  on  seeing  one  of  Daubigny’s  Springtimes 
should  have  cried,  “ Oh ! I can  breathe  now.”  He  liked 
best  to  paint  the  cool  of  the  evening  after  the  glow  of 
the  sunset  has  quite  left  the  sky.  His  days  he  spent  in 
his  big  boat-barge,  and  as  it  drifted  up  or  down  the  Oise 
he  would  moor  it  wherever  a gentle  turn,  an  old  mill  or  a 
waving  field  attracted  him. 

The  Springtime  in  this  room  is  one  of  his  more  finished 
canvases.  Down  a path  leading  through  the  end  of  a 
field  of  green  wheat,  rides  a young  girl  on  donkey-back, 


SPRINGTIME 


Salle  Des  Btats 


367 


the  framework  for  panniers  sticking  far  out  on  each  side 
of  the  beast.  Behind  her  in  the  wheat  two  rustic  lovers 
are  embracing.  At  the  left  at  the  top  of  a softly  sloping 
hill  the  orchards  bloom  against  the  sky.  Over  all  is  the 
exquisite  tenderness  of  the  early  spring. 

The  Vintage  in  Burgundy  shows  the  peasants  gathering 
grapes.  At  the  left  is  a cart  drawn  by  two  oxen  on 
which  is  loaded  a tub  and  from  it  by  a little  path  comes 
one  of  the  gatherers.  Two  boys  are  lying  down  in  the 
foreground.  The  landscape  is  flat. 

Fromentin’s  unfinished  canvas,  An  Arabian  Encamp- 
ment, hangs  on  the  west  wall  of  the  Salle  des  Etats.  It 
was  bought  after  the  death  of  the  painter,  just  as  he  had 
left  it.  In  the  foreground,  slightly  at  the  left  are  two 
white  horses,  standing  in  profile,  absolutely  quiet,  though 
wholly  unharnessed  and  unhitched.  In  front  of  them, 
slightly  farther  back  in  the  scene  are  three  half-nude 
Arab  women,  one  standing  with  arm  on  hip,  facing  her 
two  companions,  who  are  sitting  and  half-lying  on  the 
ground.  Behind  them  and  the  sands  of  the  foreground, 
are  three  or  four  umbrella-sort  of  tents  and  back  of 
them  the  oasis  with  a few  picturesque  trees  and  wooded 
mounds,  and  beyond  a line  of  blue  hills  against  the 
luminous  sky.  Toward  the  end  of  his  life  Eromentin 
was  accused  of  painting  an  East  Parisianized,  and  this 
picture  is  hardly  up  to  his  earlier  Poems  of  the  Desert. 

For  whatever  this  lawyer-writer-painter  did  he  was 
a true  poet.  In  colouring  he  was  always  charming,  and 
his  aim  was  to  give  not  only  local  character  and  colour 
to  his  Eastern  scenes  but  to  give  them  besides  a breadth 
and  largeness  of  vision  which  to  his  mind  painting  was 
in  danger  of  losing.  It  was  in  1847,  after  four  years  in 
Algeria  that  his  picture  Gorges  de  la  Chiffa  was  exhibited 
and  at  the  same  time  his  “ L’£te  dans  le  Sahara  ” was  pub- 


368 


Zbc  Hft  of  tbe  Xouvre 


lished.  Sainte-Beuve  said  of  him  “ Hte  paints  in  two 
languages  and  is  an  amateur  in  neither.  The  two  are  in 
accord  — he  passes  from  one  to  the  other  with  facility.” 
As  a critic  of  art  of  other  lands  and  times,  Fromentin  is 
almost  unapproachable.  As  a painter  he  has  been  called 
the  “ Watteau  of  the  East.”  His  canvases  are  full  of 
lovely  whites,  blues  and  greens.  It  was  the  silvery 
gamut  which  he  felt  above  all  else  in  the  East. 

Regnault’s  Equestrian  Portrait  of  Juan  Prim  is  not 
so  great  a work  as  his  portrait  of  Mile.  Breton,  his 
fiancee,  but  it  has,  nevertheless,  very  great  claims  to 
highest  praise.  Painted  when  Regnault  was  full  of  fresh 
fire  in  his  devotion  to  Velasquez,  this,  though  not  accepted 
by  the  sitter,  is  one  of  the  notable  portraits  of  the  century. 
It  represents  the  general  seated  on  a backing  Andalusian 
horse,  his  head  uncovered,  his  troops  lightly  indicated 
behind  him.  The  general  himself  called  it  “ A dirty 
fellow  with  unwashed  face.”  But  in  the  Salon  of  1869 
it  was  tremendously  admired  and  called  “ Most  mag- 
nificently rendered.” 

The  Romans  of  the  Decadence  by  Couture  is  a picture 
of  an  orgy,  held  in  a Corinthian  hall,  decorated  wdth 
statues  of  Brutus,  Pompey,  Cato  and  Germanicus. 
Through  the  pillars  and  open  roof  gleams  a delicious 
blue-toned  sky.  Lying  about  on  the  marble  seats  and 
standing  on  the  tesselated  floor  are  Roman  men  and 
women,  the  latter  mostly  only  half-clothed.  Nearly  all 
are  more  or  less  overcome  by  the  wines  they  have  been 
drinking,  and  the  attitudes  of  the  men  and  women  are 
recklessly  indecent.  In  the  centre,  facing  the  spectator 
is  a woman  diaphanously  but  more  completely  robed  than 
most  of  her  companions.  Of  a very  beautiful  form,  with 
noble  lines,  she  is  in  much  the  posture  of  a figure  in  one 
of  the  tympana  of  the  Parthenon.  Her  eyes  are  vacant. 


Salle  &es  Btats 


369 


her  whole  attitude  expresses  a listless  indifference  that 
is  emphasized  by  her  expressionless  face.  The  model  for 
this  woman  was  the  betrothed  of  Couture. 

The  composition  is  far  beyond  the  merely  excellent, 
the  harmony  of  colours  is  delightful,  the  mass  and  line 
full  of  curve,  balance  and  dignity.  But  so  meaningless 
are  the  faces,  so  merely  typical  the  figures,  so  little  vital 
interest  is  in  the  whole  picture  that  it  affects  one  almost 
like  stepping  into  a cold-storage  warehouse.  If  the 
colour  is  more  rich  and  full  than  a David,  for  instance, 
that  does  not  redeem  it  sufficiently  to  give  it  any  impor- 
tance. 

Couture  never  equalled  this  picture  which  won  an 
early  fame  for  him  when  he  was  only  thirty.  His  draw- 
ing was  impeccable,  his  design  rich  and  fertile,  his 
colours  pleasing,  in  general  of  a golden  tone.  But  he  was 
too  closely  bound  to  the  academic  school  and  traditions 
ever  to  reach  the  heights  he  might  have  attained. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


SALLE  LACAZE  — ROOM  I.  — ALL  SCHOOLS 

In  1869  Lacaze  left  to  the  Louvre  a large  collection 
of  paintings,  principally  of  Flemish,  Dutch  and  French 
painters.  As  already  noted  the  Dutch  and  most  of  the 
Flemish  pictures  have  been  put  into  the  Cabinets  on  either 
side  of  the  Rubens  Gallery.  In  Room  I.,  called  Salle 
Lacaze  are  the  others  of  the  bequest.  The  pictures  are 
chiefly  French  of  the  Louis  XIV.  era,  but  a few  other 
periods  as  well  as  other  countries  are  represented. 

Among  the  Spanish  pictures  in  the  room  are  two  por- 
traits by  Murillo  of  the  poet  Quevado  and  the  Duke 
d’Assuna.  They  are  both  round  panels,  showing  only  the 
head  and  shoulders  of  the  sitters.  Quevado,  the  poet, 
with  his  enormous  round  eyeglasses,  his  soft  curling 
hair  that  falls  to  his  shoulder,  his  stiff  right-angled  collar 
projecting  far  out,  looks  as  a typical  poet  should,  so  much 
so  that  in  spite  of  the  excellence  of  the  painting  it  is 
difficult  to  believe  in  his  reality. 

The  duke  is  a man  of  the  world,  with  wide  sleepy  eyes, 
a double  chin  and  a dissatisfied  mouth.  It  is  painted  with 
a soft,  full,  easy  stroke. 

A very  beautiful  Ribera  is  in  this  room,  the  IMadonna 
and  Child.  Mary  is  lifting  her  son  from  his  pallet  of 
straw,  her  own  face  raised  to  heaven  as  if  calling  a bless- 
ing upon  the  sleeping  babe.  It  is  a half-length  picture 

370 


Salle  Xacase 


371 


and  has  much  of  the  depth  of  shadow  usual  to  Ribera. 
The  deep  tones  are  used  effectively,  however,  making 
the  light  on  the  child  and  Mary’s  face  all  the  more  telling 
in  brilliancy.  Correggio  might  own  the  chubby  baby 
without  shame,  and  Murillo  has  painted  far  more  un- 
satisfactory Madonnas  than  this  deep-eyed,  earnest 
woman  who  seems  to  feel  a presage  of  future  woe. 

Two  out  of  the  seven  works  labelled  Velasquez  owned 
by  the  Louvre  are  in  this  collection.  The  bust  of  Philip 
IV.  is  a repetition  of  the  one  in  the  National  Gallery. 
Here  the  monarch  is  about  fifty  years  old,  is  dressed  in 
a close-fitting  habit  of  black  silk,  a broad  white  collar 
and  the  chain  of  the  Order  of  the  Golden  Fleece.  His 
long  hair  falls  in  waves  on  his  collar,  his  moustache  as 
always  is  turned  sharply  upward  and  the  intense  pallor 
of  his  face  is  more  marked  than  usual. 

The  so-called  Marie-Theresa  is  now  believed  to  be 
the  Queen  Mariana,  second  wife  of  Philip  IV.  M. 
Beruete  claims  this  as  the  study  for  the  full-length  of 
Mariana  in  Vienna.  It  represents  the  young  queen  about 
twelve  years  old,  in  three-quarters  view,  turned  toward 
the  left.  The  heavy  under  lip  of  the  Austrian,  the  blond 
hair  with  its  extraordinary  ornamentation  are  character- 
istics of  the  girl  who,  engaged  to  the  Prince  of  Spain, 
afterward  became  the  wife  of  his  father.  The  arrangement 
of  the  hair  in  this  portrait  is  a marvel.  Drawn  out  on 
each  side  of  her  face  into  regular  balloons,  it  is  then 
curled  and  puffed,  and  false  hair  added,  the  whole  sur- 
mounted with  bows  of  pink  ribbon,  feathers  and  jewels 
till  it  is  doubtful  if  she  could  ever  have  moved  her  head 
so  much  as  an  inch.  She  is  dressed  in  white  with  a 
gauze  collar  bordered  with  rose-coloured  embroidery. 
Upon  her  breast  are  the  jewels  of  some  order  and  on  her 
left  shoulder  a knot  of  ribbon.  A green  curtain  partly 


372 


XTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


lifted  forms  the  background.  This,  like  most  of  the 
Velasquez  pictures  in  the  Louvre  is  far  below  the  painter’s 
best  work. 

A family  Portrait  Group  by  Largilliere  of  himself,  his 
wife  and  his  daughter,  is  not  particularly  happy  in  com- 
position. The  painter,  in  a wig  that  rivals  Le  Brun’s 
in  length  and  luxuriance,  is  seated  in  profile  at  the 
extreme  left  of  an  outdoor  scene.  Standing  before  him 
and  holding  a scroll  of  music  in  her  hand,  his  young 
daughter  is  turning  slightly  toward  her  mother  who  is 
seated  opposite  the  painter,  facing  him,  her  head  thus 
in  almost  complete  profile.  The  girl  is  rather  charming, 
the  mother  high-bred,  the  accessories  conventional  and 
academic  as  indeed  is  the  entire  picture.  It  does  not  as 
a whole  compare  favourably  with  much  of  the  painter’s 
work.  For  Largilliere  was  not  only  a noted  portrait- 
painter  of  his  day,  but  he  has  left  many  canvases  that 
reveal  real  talent.  His  colour  is  somewhat  heavy,  his 
shadows  are  too  brown,  his  lights  too  yellow,  the  half- 
tones in  his  flesh  often  too  green.  Yet,  nevertheless,  the 
general  effect  has  a sort  of  distinction  of  its  own.  His 
drawing  is  vigorous  and  frequently  extremely  interesting. 

Nattier’s  Portrait  of  Mile,  de  Lambesc  and  the  Young 
Comte  de  Brienne  is  an  average  example  of  this  painter’s 
style.  In  front  of  a drapery  lifted  at  the  right  mademoi- 
selle is  sitting,  turned  three-quarters  to  the  left.  Her 
costume,  as  usual  in  a Nattier  portrait  is  a mythologic 
sort  of  affair.  A blue  mantle  covers  the  lower  part  of  her 
figure,  her  white  corsage  is  low-cut,  wdth  a belt  of  gold, 
and  over  her  right  shoulder  a tiger  skin  is  thrown.  She 
is  buckling  on  the  sword  of  her  young  brother  who  is 
standing  at  her  left.  He  is  gaily  attired  in  yellow  and 
red,  and  carries  a red  banner. 

Hercules  and  Omphale  by  Le  IMoine  is  one  of  that 


Salle  OLacase 


373 


painter’s  characteristic  works,  with  some  real  charm  in 
the  handling  of  flesh.  Omphale  is  standing  on  her 
right  foot,  her  left  leg  brought  around  crossing  her  right. 
Her  right  hand  hangs  at  her  side,  her  left  arm  is  about 
the  neck  of  the  seated  Hercules  who  is  gazing  into  her 
laughing  face,  while  he  awkwardly  holds  the  distaff  she 
has  given  him.  At  his  feet,  leaning  against  his  leg,  is  an 
adorable  little  Cupid.  The  modelling  here,  especially  of 
the  bust  of  Omphale  has  a delicate  softness  that  is  one 
of  Le  Moine’s  pleasing  attributes. 

A well-known  picture  by  Boucher  in  this  room  is  his 
Three  Graces.  The  three  bear  on  their  shoulders  a tiny 
Cupid  who,  singing  in  triumph,  holds  in  each  outstretched 
hand,  a torch.  The  maidens  can  hardly  be  said  to  rest, 
even  on  one  foot.  They  are  all  just  beginning,  it  seems, 
to  enter  into  a dance.  The  one  on  the  left,  holding 
Cupid’s  quiver,  is  almost  wholly  back  to,  her  head  how- 
ever in  profile,  turned  sharply  to  the  left,  and  bent  down- 
ward. Her  uplifted  right  arm  helps  to  steady  the 
triumphant  Cupid.  The  central  Grace  is  nearly  full  face, 
with  her  right  leg  advanced  and  her  left  bent  backward. 
She  holds  a wreath  of  blooms,  and  a bit  of  drapery  falls 
over  her  left  arm  across  her  breast,  while  her  head  is 
thrown  back  and  turned  to  the  left  in  profile.  The  one 
on  the  right,  of  darker  tone  than  the  others,  is  more 
frankly  dancing.  She  rests  on  her  left  foot,  which  is 
pointed  outward,  almost  meeting  the  extended  right  one 
of  the  central  Grace.  Her  right  foot  is  thrown  out  behind 
and  lifted  some  distance  from  the  ground.  All  these 
figures  have  the  upper  part  of  their  bodies  twisted  more 
or  less  sharply.  There  are  a grace,  an  abandon,  and  if  a 
certain  roughness  in  their  postures,  also  a vigour  and 
frankness  that  suggest  abounding  life.  About  them  swirl 
the  clouds  of  the  universe,  behind  them  the  luminous 


374 


^be  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


ether,  full  of  golden  light.  They  are  on  top  of  what  looks 
like  the  rolling  globe  and  at  their  feet  are  the  roses  and 
dropped  petals  from  their  wreaths  of  flowers.  Cupid  is 
a fat  baby  full  of  a hilarity  his  eyes  and  laughing  mouth 
proclaim  loudly,  and  the  reckless  way  in  which  he  flings 
his  lighted  torch  about  gives  a key  to  the  whole  picture. 

There  are  a large  number  of  canvases  by  Chardin  in 
this  room,  most  of  which  are  still-life  groups.  The  one 
called  Various  Utensils  shows  a large  quantity  of  all 
kinds  of  dishes  on  a buffet.  At  the  left  is  a silver  chafing- 
dish,  then  a loaf  of  sugar  in  a blue  paper,  a soup-tureen, 
a napkin  and  knife,  and  some  jugs.  At  the  right  is  a 
small  red  table  with  an  open  drawer  and  on  it  porcelain 
cups  and  a sugar-bowl.  Nothing  here  looks  as  if  it  had 
been  arranged  for  a picture ; the  things  are  placed  ex- 
actly as  they  might  easily  have  been  left  by  a servant. 
All  Chardin’s  still  life  is  simply  wonderful.  It  seems 
painted  less  for  itself  than  for  its  surroundings  of  which 
it  appears  merely  an  integral  part. 

The  House  of  Cards  is  a noted  figure  composition  by 
Chardin  here.  A young  man  with  large,  soft  hat  is  seated 
in  profile  before  a table  upon  which  he  is  constructing  a 
house  of  cards.  He  has  a serious  expression,  is  perhaps 
a trifle  ennuied.  His  coat  is  gray,  hat  black,  his  long 
loosely  curling  hair  blond.  There  are  no  accessories,  the 
background  being  as  plain  as  a modern  painter  would 
make  it,  and  though  Chardin  reminds  one  in  certain  ways 
of  the  Dutch  school  he  is  very  unlike  it  in  this  simplicity 
of  details. 

A most  charming  example  of  Rigaud  is  his  portrait 
of  the  young  Due  de  Lesdiguieres.  The  duke  w^s  only 
eight  years  old  when  the  picture  was  painted,  in  1687. 
He  has  a blond  peruke,  holds  in  his  left  hand  the  baton 
of  the  commander,  and  is  in  armour,  as  if  emphasizing 


Salle  3Laca3e 


375 


that  he  was  the  youngest  of  a race  of  soldiers.  The  tone 
of  the  flesh  is  fine  and  rarely  clear,  the  complexion  charm- 
ing, the  drawing  almost  a caress,  so  exquisitely  has  the 
point  indicated  the  delicate  forms.  The  large  eyes  are 
brilliant  with  a spirit  that  seems  as  gay  as  it  is  intense. 
About  the  whole  figure  there  are  nevertheless  a slightness 
and  a transparency  in  the  exquisite  flesh,  that  convey 
an  impression  of  the  delicate  health  of  the  young  duke 
who  died  so  early.  The  picture  is  Rigaud  at  his  best. 

With  the  exception  of  the  Embarkation  for  Cythera 
the  Louvre  owned  nothing  of  Watteau  till  it  received  the 
bequest  from  M.  Lacaze.  Though  none  of  the  ten  panels 
in  this  collection  equals  that  famous  one,  there  are  a 
number  of  great  merit  and  charm.  Of  them  all  Gilles 
and  the  Antiope  are  the  most  noted. 

Gilles  stands  with  both  arms  flat  at  his  side,  all  in 
his  white  costume,  at  the  top  of  a knoll  up  to  which 
others  are  scrambling  after  him.  It  is  life-size,  and  it 
is  said  Watteau  never  painted  another  life-size  figure. 
The  contention  that  he  could  not,  seems  here  answered. 
Certainly  the  figure  is  as  splendidly  drawn,  as  firmly 
modelled,  as  a Rubens  or  a Veronese  would  have  done 
it.  The  characterization  of  the  face  is  as  remarkable  as 
its  firm  full  modelling.  The  mingled  amusement  and 
spitefulness  that  overspread  it  are  most  aptly  indicated. 
The  tones  of  his  white  costume  abound  in  the  pearly 
lights  Watteau  so  loved. 

More  beautiful,  if  not  more  famous,  is  the  Jupiter  and 
Antiope,  which  up  to  the  late  rearrangement  of  the 
rooms  in  the  museum  had  a place  in  the  Salon  CarrG 
Lying  at  the  edge  of  a bank  on  her  side,  facing  out,  is 
Antiope,  her  head  resting  on  her  right  arm,  her  left 
hanging  straight  down  across  her  breast.  Her  right 
knee  is  drawn  sharply  up,  her  left  leg  stretched  out  more 


376 


Zbc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


nearly  to  its  length.  Under  the  sleeping  figure  is  a bit 
of  drapery,  but  over  her  is  none,  for  the  slight  wrapping 
that  evidently  had  shielded  her  is  being  plucked  back  by 
the  dark,  brawny  arm  of  Jupiter,  who,  in  satyr  guise, 
is  behind  her  gazing  down  entranced. 

It  is  a scene  almost  more  Titianesque  than  Titian  ever 
painted.  Its  similarity  to  that  master’s  works  has  been 
frequently  pointed  out,  as  well  as  certain  Rubenesque 
attributes.  That  it  is  neither  a copy  of  Rubens  nor  of 
Titian  is  its  greatest  claim  to  admiration.  If  the  style 
and  subject  of  the  composition  and  the  flesh  gradations 
suggest  Titian,  or  if  the  drawing  of  the  nymph’s  body 
and  certain  tones  of  the  flesh  recall  Rubens,  it  is  neverthe- 
less all  Watteau. 

The  figure  of  Antiope  is  hardly  less  beautiful  than 
any  Venus  that  Titian  ever  painted.  The  modulations 
in  the  golden  tones  are  almost  as  exquisite  as  the  Venetian 
painter  could  have  achieved,  but  there  is  a sort  of  silver 
coolness  about  them  that  makes  them  Watteau’s  owm. 
The  surety  of  construction,  the  mastery  of  form,  the  sim- 
ple handling,  have  rarely  been  excelled  by  the  greatest 
masters  of  the  Renaissance  of  Italy.  Perhaps  that  fallen 
left  arm,  cutting  as  it  does  in  its  brilliant  colour  so 
sharply  against  the  dark  bank,  is  a doubtful  note,  from 
a compositional  point  of  view.  But  as  a bit  of  local  colour 
and  modelling  it  is  in  itself  a reason  for  being.  The 
head  of  this  sleeping  favourite  of  the  king  of  the  gods 
is  piquant,  fascinating,  — but  unquestionably  it  is  the 
head  of  a veritable  French  girl.  Titian’s  nymphs  and 
goddesses  are  mostly  of  a large,  impersonal  V-pe,  sug- 
gesting by  this  very  impersonality  the  calm-eyed  Greek 
statues.  But  here,  Watteau  has  gone  far  beyond 
the  impersonal,  the  general.  This  is  an  individual,  un- 
doubted French  nymph,  in  spite  of  the  ugly  satyr  above 


Salle  Xacase  377 

her,  not  so  much  a Grecian  goddess,  as  a gay  Gallic 
sprite. 

La  Finette  and  L’Indifferent  are  small  pictures  on 
wood.  They  were  both  once  the  property  of  Madame 
de  Pompadour.  Burger  calls  them  masterpieces  for 
“ quality  and  purity.” 

LTndifferent  is  a counterpart  of  Gilles,  He  stands 
with  one  foot  pointed,  both  arms  extended,  his  short 
cape  falling  over  his  right  arm.  He  is  just  about  to 
make  a pas-seul  and  he  is  fairly  thrilling  with  life,  move- 
ment and  grace,  though  the  whole  figure  is  not  twenty 
centimetres  high.  He  has  a pink  short  cloak  lined  with 
pale  blue,  waistcoat  of  blue-green,  breeches  to  match  and 
pink  silk  stockings,  hat  of  the  same  delicate  green  as  the 
costume.  The  background  of  trees  on  the  left  keeps 
the  general  blue-green  scheme,  and  on  the  right  it  is 
lightened  by  a sun  setting  in  silvery  pinks,  thus  com- 
plementing the  cloak  and  the  pink  silk  stockings.  The 
charm  of  the  whole  picture  is  in  this  exquisite  gradation 
of  such  delicate  tones,  broken  up  by  reflections  that 
produce  a “ harmony  which  is  very  simple  but  extremely 
distingue  and  rare.” 

In  Finette  are  much  the  same  qualities,  perhaps  intensi- 
fied. 

The  False  Step  shows  a young  woman  who  has  slipped 
and  fallen  and  is  seated  almost  squarely  back  to  on  the 
ground,  resting  on  her  left  arm  with  which  she  has 
caught  herself.  With  her  right  arm  she  is  somewhat 
uncertainly  pushing  back  the  young  man  who  is  leaning 
over  her,  his  arm  about  her  waist.  The  light  strikes  full 
on  her  charming  neck,  and  her  head  and  the  young 
cavalier’s  stand  out  against  a blue  sky  called  by  M. 
Burger  “ tin  peu  vif.” 

The  Juggler  is  attributed  to  the  earliest  period  of 


378 


XEbe  art  of  tbe  !!touvre 


Watteau’s  art.  The  juggler  himself  stands  in  profile 
before  an  oval  table  on  which  is  a pack  of  cards  and  three 
dice-boxes.  Above  these  latter  he  holds  his  right  hand, 
while  with  the  left  he  is  attracting  the  attention  of  his 
audience,  two  women  seated  opposite  him  with  a child 
between  them.  Back  of  the  chair  of  the  one  on  the  right 
is  a gallant,  much  interested  in  a young  woman  who  is 
at  the  extreme  left  and  is  apparently  about  leaving  the 
room,  not  without,  however,  a parting  glance  at  the 
watching  youth.  Here  are  the  fine  soft  silks,  and  gay  ap- 
parel Watteau  so  delights  in,  and  in  the  countenance  of 
the  juggler  he  had  a chance  to  display  his  love  for  the 
grotesque. 

Fragonard  as  well  as  Watteau  has  a long  list  of  pictures 
in  this  room,  of  many  different  subjects. 

The  Bathers  represents  half  a dozen  nymphs  or  maidens 
in  a very  revel  of  bathing.  They  are  springing  into 
the  waves,  rushing  through  them,  or  coming  buoyantly 
to  the  top.  The  water  is  not  deep,  and  trees,  rushes  and 
grass  are  all  about.  Two  of  the  principal  figures  are 
in  the  centre  of  the  composition,  one  throwing  herself 
backward  into  the  water  with  arms  and  legs  extended, 
while  the  other  is  springing  in  from  the  bordering  grass, 
showing  her  full  back.  This  is  not  far  removed  from 
the  manner  of  Boucher.  But  loosely  as  it  is  drawn  and 
constructed  it  has  much  charm  of  colour  and  joy  of  move- 
ment. 

The  two  figure  studies  called  Inspiration  and  a Figure 
of  Fantasy  are  almost  identical  in  position.  In  both  a 
young  man  is  seated  turned  three-quarters  to  the  right, 
his  head  facing  in  the  opposite  direction.  Each  head  is 
slightly  lifted  and  has  clear-cut,  vigorous  features,  firm 
full  brow,  and  searching  eyes.  The  one  called  an  imagi- 
nary figure  holds  its  hands  rather  tightly  closed,  one 


HEAD  OF  A YOUNG  GIIU. 
By  Greuze 


r 


i 


Salle  Xacase 


379 


on  the  balustrade  in  front  of  him,  the  other  above  clasping 
his  coat.  A black  hat  with  a gray  plume  is  on  the  balus- 
trade beside  him,  his  full  loose  ruffle  is  close  about  his 
neck,  his  tunic  is  blue  and  his  hair  blond.  In  Inspiration 
the  loose  white  collar  is  open  far  down  the  throat. 
Before  him  on  a table  are  papers  and  he  holds  a pen 
suspended  in  his  left  hand.  Both  of  these  figures  have 
life  and  character  and  are  firmly  and  vividly  drawn. 

Another  charming  panel  is  the  one  called  A Study, 
showing  a very  young  girl  seated  before  a table,  hold- 
ing an  open  book.  Her  head  is  bent  somewhat  back  and 
sidewards,  her  eyes  merrily  glancing  to  the  left,  a be- 
witching smile  on  her  soft  red  lips.  Neck  and  part  of  the 
bust  are  bare,  surrounded  by  a big,  flaring  Marie-Antoi- 
nette  sort  of  collar. 

The  Head  of  a Young  Girl  by  Greuze  is  not  one  of  his 
most  beautiful  faces,  being  somewhat  heavy  in  feature. 
It  is  worth  noticing  however  for  one  reason,  that  com- 
paratively few  of  his  girls’  faces  are  ever  seen  in  profile. 
In  this  the  shoulders  are  nearly  in  full  view,  but  the  head 
is  turned  up  and  around  toward  the  left  shoulder.  Her 
light  hair  is  bound  with  a violet  ribbon  run  over  it  twice, 
her  gray  chemisette  is  open  at  the  neck  leaving  one 
breast  uncovered.  The  heaviness  and  angularity  of  the 
drapery  so  often  found  in  Greuze’s  works  is  very  notice- 
able here,  but  as  usual,  also,  there  are  the  clear,  fresh, 
transparent  tones  and  the  soft  luminous  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


SALLE  DENON  — ROOM  XV,  — ALL  SCHOOLS  — PORTRAITS 

Salle  Denon^  marked  Room  XV.  on  the  plan,  is  re- 
served for  portraits  of  artists.  It  was  opened  in  1887  and 
is  modelled  on  the  general  lines  of  the  collection  of 
portraits  in  the  Ufhzi.  The  portraits  here,  however,  do 
not  begin  to  compare  with  those  in  the  Florentine  gallery 
either  in  number  or  extent. 

One  of  the  most  important  in  the  room  is  Tintoretto’s 
Portrait  of  Himself.  Indeed,  of  all  the  long  list  of 
paintings  ascribed  to  Tintoretto  in  the  Louvre,  it  is  only 
in  this  portrait  that  a half-adequate  idea  of  his  genius 
can  be  obtained.  It  is  supposed  to  have  been  painted 
either  just  before  or  just  after  he  did  the  Paradise  and 
represents  him  therefore  as  an  old  man.  He  is  in  full 
face,  dressed  in  black  against  a dark  background,  the 
deep  tones  of  his  surroundings  making  more  striking 
the  whiteness  of  his  curly  beard  and  short-cropped  hair. 
It  is  a face  in  which  the  fires  of  youth  still  burn  in  the 
slumberous  depths  of  the  great  dark  eyes,  a face  that  is 
marked  genius  from  the  square,  ridged,  long  forehead  to 
the  mouth  which  though  hidden  under  the  moustache, 
reveals  itself  in  the  sensitive  lines  that  mark  the  shadows 
above  and  below.  It  is  a worn  face,  with  shadows 
under  the  eyes,  with  hollow  cheeks,  with  mournful  fur- 
rows reaching  downward  from  the  nose.  It  is  a self- 

380 


Salle  Denon 


381 

contained,  solitary  spirit  that  yet  looks  out  at  the  world 
eagerly,  passionately,  and  if  the  stoop  of  the  shoulders 
hints  of  the  weary  years  that  rest  upon  them,  there  is  a 
firmness  of  pose,  a calmness  even  in  the  flames  within 
the  eyes  that  bespeak  the  undying  creative  spirit. 

The  Portrait  of  Le  Brun  by  Largilliere  is  one  of  the 
best  known  of  all  Largilliere’s  works.  Seated  before  an 
easel  on  which  is  a large  sketch  of  one  of  his  Versailles 
compositions,  Le  Brun,  in  his  enormous  curled  wig  that 
reaches  almost  to  his  waist,  points  to  this  sketch  while 
his  face  is  turned  outward  as  if  he  were  speaking  to 
some  one  about  it.  His  ample  cloak  of  red  velvet  covers 
his  legs,  and  seems  to  accentuate  the  princely  character 
of  the  man.  Beside  him  on  the  right,  on  a table,  is  an 
engraving  of  the  Tent  of  Darius,  a small  cast  of 
Antinous  and  of  the  Gladiator.  At  the  left,  on  the  floor, 
are  a head  and  a torso  modelled  upon  the  antique,  a 
globe,  a book,  a drawing  and  papers.  It  is  the  portrait 
best  recognized  as  Charles  Le  Brun,  and  though,  so  far 
as  surroundings  and  treatment  go  it  is  a thoroughly 
academic  portrait,  it  has  besides  much  more  than  the 
elements  of  style,  individuality  and  characterization.  Its 
very  pseudo-classicism  is  after  all  extremely  fitting  in  a 
portrait  of  that  great  champion  of  the  Grand  Monarch. 

Another  Portrait  of  Le  Brun  is  by  Rigaud,  Largilliere’s 
great  friend.  Le  Brun  is  here  painted  on  the  same  panel 
with  Mignard,  and  the  two,  if  less  beautiful  examples  of 
Rigaud’s  skill  than  the  celebrated  double  portrait  of  his 
mother,  are  worthy  of  the  painter  who  was  the  great 
favourite  of  kings  and  princes.  The  two  men  are  behind 
a sort  of  railing.  At  the  right,  Le  Brun,  turning  to  the 
left  is  seen  in  three-quarters  position,  his  costume  a 
dead-leaf  colour,  his  cloak  of  violet  velvet.  In  one  hand 
he  holds  his  palette  and  brushes,  his  maulstick  in  the 


382 


Ube  Hrt  ot  tbe  Xouvre 


other.  Mignard  is  on  the  left,  almost  full  face,  his  head 
bare,  as  is  Le  Brun’s,  dressed  in  black  velvet,  one  hand 
resting-  on  a drawing,  the  other  raised,  pointing  to 
something  out  of  the  picture. 

Tocque  is  represented  in  this  gallery  by  two  admirable 
portraits,  one  of  the  painter  Louis  Galloche,  the  other 
of  the  sculptor  Jean-Louis  Lemoyne.  Tocque  had  a 
vigour  and  simplicity  in  portraiture  rare  in  that  day, 
though  he  was  injured  by  Nattier’s  influence. 

One  of  the  best  portraits  that  Greuze  ever  painted  is 
that  of  himself  in  this  room.  He  was  an  extremely  inter- 
esting man  in  appearance,  of  middle  height,  with  a strik- 
ing head,  full,  high  forehead,  large,  luminous  eyes,  finely 
formed  nose,  rather  thin  mouth.  His  hair  he  wore  in 
curls  on  either  side  of  his  face,  the  front  being  combed 
straight  back.  This  portrait  show's  him  rather  late  in 
life,  in  three-quarters  position,  turned  to^vard  the  left. 
The  hair  is  powdered  and  he  has  a blue  coat,  a gray 
waistcoat  and  a loosely  tied  white  cravat.  About  the 
mouth  and  the  eyes  there  is,  perhaps,  a hint  of  the  self- 
esteem and  vanity  which  w'ere  his  w'orst  faults. 

Three  portraits  by  Madame  Vigee-Le  Brun  are  here, 
of  Joseph  Vernet,  of  Hubert  Robert  and  of  herself  and 
daughter.  This  latter  is  one  of  her  best  knowm  and 
most  successful  works.  She  is  seated  upon  a g^reen  sofa, 
in  a white  muslin  dress  that  leaves  her  right  arm,  shoul- 
der and  neck  bare.  Bound  about  her  w'aist  with  a red 
sash  the  ends  of  an  olive-toned  mantle  behind  her  drop 
on  to  her  lap.  Her  soft  blond  hair  with  the  fascinating 
loose  curls  about  her  face,  is  partly  confined  by  a red 
ribbon.  Leaning  against  her  mother’s  knee,  with  both 
arms  clasped  about  her  neck,  and  her  head  against  her 
shoulder,  is  the  small  daughter,  dressed  in  blue.  Her 
tender  little  face  with  its  half-open  mouth  expresses  a 


Salle  H5enon 


383 


childlike  and  very  real  devotion.  Madame  Le  Brun 
herself,  if  somewhat  conscious  of  her  delicate  oval  face, 
shining  eyes  and  pink  cheeks,  shows  a maternal  love 
that  is  both  spontaneous  and  unaffected.  This  picture  is 
painted  with  a full  if  delicate  brush,  the  general  tone  is 
most  harmonious,  the  scheme  of  colour  distinguished. 

Hubert  Robert  is  posed  in  an  attitude  absolutely  free 
from  affectation.  It  is  exactly  as  if  he  had  suddenly 
leaned  upon  the  stone  balustrade  before  him  while  work- 
ing at  his  painting,  and  for  a moment  stopped  to  turn 
and  talk.  His  hair  is  white,  his  full  neck  is  bound  about 
with  a soft  white  kerchief  giving  a brilliant  high  light 
to  the  rather  gay  costume.  His  coat  is  violet  with  a red 
collar,  displaying  a yellow  waistcoat.  In  his  left  hand 
he  holds  his  palette  and  brushes.  There  is  a vigour  of 
expression  about  the  face,  a very  living  feeling  in  the 
modelling,  that  indicates  that  it  must  have  been  a most 
excellent  portrait.  The  brush-work  is  free,  loose  and 
supple.  There  is  none  of  the  dryness  Madame  Le  Brun 
sometimes  fell  into  in  her  later  years. 

The  Portrait  of  Himself  by  Delacroix,  painted  in 
1827,  shows  clearly  the  kind  of  man  he  was.  For 
strangely  enough,  this  painter  who  revelled  in  colour,  in 
warmth,  in  movement,  in  a very  orgy  of  emotion  on 
canvas,  lived  the  simplest,  quietest,  most  reserved  of 
lives.  All  his  strength,  energy  and  passion  went  into  his 
brush,  — he  had  none  left  for  his  daily  life.  Fighting 
disease  always,  fragile  from  boyhood,  it  was  only  by 
thus  conserving  all  his  powers  that  he  could  have  begun 
to  produce  the  enormous  mass  of  work  he  left  behind 
him.  This  pale-faced  young  man,  with  the  deep, 
shadowed  eyes,  the  heavy  hair  over  the  full  square  brow, 
the  sensitive,  firm  mouth,  was  almost  a recluse.  He 
left  the  portrait  to  his  governess  with  the  verbal  stipula- 


3^4 


XEbe  art  of  tbc  Xouvre 


tion  that  it  should  be  given  to  the  Louvre  so  soon  as 
a Bourbon  should  be  once  more  on  the  French  throne. 

The  Man  with  the  Leather  Belt  by  Courbet  is  a por- 
trait of  the  painter  himself  when  he  was  a young  man. 
Seated  beside  a table,  he  is  shown  in  three-quarters  view, 
facing  to  the  right  of  the  picture.  Hjs  right  elbow  rests 
upon  a volume  or  portfolio  on  the  table  and  his  head 
leans  slightly  against  his  right  hand  which  is  drawn  up 
to  his  neck.  His  left  hand  fingers  the  broad  leather 
belt  which  has  given  the  name  to  the  picture.  He  is 
dressed  in  black,  has  bushy,  curling  black  hair,  worn  long, 
black  eyes  and  a thin  black  moustache  and  beard.  The 
face  that  Sylvestre  likened  to  an  Assyrian  bas-relief, 
shows  the  finely-drawn  eyebrows,  the  full  forehead,  the 
mobile  lips,  the  deep,  passionate  eyes  that  made  Courbet, 
especially  as  a young  man,  so  remarkably  handsome. 
Even  with  greater  pow'er  are  the  hands  portra5'ed.  The 
virile  strength,  yet  fineness  of  line  and  construction  of 
that  flexible  right  hand  would  alone  mark  Courbet  as  a 
powerful  draughtsman. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


THOMY-THIERY  SALLES  — FRENCH  SCHOOL 

With  the  opening  of  the  Thomy-Thiery  collection  in 
1903,  three  more  rooms  of  the  Louvre  were  given  up 
to  paintings.  These  rooms  are  far  from  the  rest  of  the 
picture-gallery,  being  up-stairs  and  across  the  court, 
over  the  double  colonnade  of  Louis  XIV.,  at  the  end  of 
the  Musee  de  Marine.  To  get  to  them  it  is  necessary 
to  go  up  crooked,  narrow,  wooden  back  stairs,  but  it 
is  an  ascent  that  must  more  than  repay  the  climber. 
These  pictures,  most  of  which  are  of  rather  small  dimen- 
sions, represent  the  very  height  of  French  art  — espe- 
cially French  landscape  art,  — from  1830  to,  say,  1870 
or  later.  Such  a collection  the  Louvre  probably  never 
could  have  owned  without  individual  generosity  like  this 
of  M.  Thomy-Thiery. 

Corot,  Daubigny,  Decamps,  Delacroix,  Diaz,  Dupre, 
Fromentin,  Isabey,  Meissonier,  Millet,  Rousseau  and 
Troyon  are  all  represented  in  the  hundred  pictures  left 
by  M.  Thomy-Thiery  as  well  as  Barye  with  one  sketch 
and  a hundred  and  forty-four  bronzes.  Painters  who 
otherwise  are  hardly  known  in  the  Louvre  are  most 
splendidly  in  evidence  in  this  collection. 

There  are  seventeen  of  Decamps  and  they  are  very 
various  in  subject  and  quality.  All  sides  of  his  art  are 
here  shown.  The  splendid  dogs,  the  Oriental  subjects, 

38s 


386 


XLM  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


the  Elephant  and  the  Tiger  at  the  Stream,  where  the 
light  is  so  golden,  composition  so  picturesque,  with  such 
a superb  effect  made  by  the  huge  and  sombre  mass  of  the 
elephant  against  the  evening  sky,  the  Street  of  Smyrna,  so 
sun-kissed,  the  Knife-Grinder,  the  Beggar  Counting  His 
Gains,  the  Valet  of  the  Dogs,  the  Bell-Ringers,  the  Hunt- 
ing Dogs  at  Rest,  — these  are  all  chefs-d’oeuvre. 

The  Monkey  Painter  shows  one  of  the  beasts  Decamps 
so  often  painted,  seated  on  the  ground,  profile  turned 
to  the  right,  before  a canvas.  He  is  dressed  in  a black 
velvet  suit  ornamented  with  gold  braid  and  bound  about 
his  waist  with  a leather  belt.  In  his  left  hand  he  holds 
his  palette  and  extra  brushes,  while  he  paints  with  a 
long-handled  brush  held  in  his  right,  the  canvas  which 
is  leaning  against  a table  on  top  of  which  is  a bottle  of 
varnish  and  an  earthen  jar  full  of  a lot  of  brushes.  A 
palette,  a Dutch  pipe,  and  another  landscape  hang  on 
the  wall  behind,  and  an  elaborate  jar  and  tea-caddy  are  on 
the  floor  in  front  of  the  table.  Around  the  corner,  in 
back  at  the  left,  a second  monkey  is  seen  back  to,  mixing 
colours  on  a slab.  The  earnestness  and  gravity  of  the 
mi.nic  workmen  are  expressed  wfith  a sort  of  glee  and 
one  can  nearly  hear  the  laugh  of  the  painter  who  por- 
trayed them.  The  arrangement,  colour  and  delicate 
esprit  of  this  composition  are  a marvel,  the  execution 
broad  and  free. 

His  Valet  de  Chiens  was  one  of  his  greatest  successes 
in  the  Exposition  of  1855,  at  which  time  his  works  filled 
almost  an  entire  room.  The  valet  is  just  opening  the 
door  at  the  back  of  the  yard  or  court  which  contains  six 
dogs.  He  has  raised  his  whip  in  air,  and  is  about  to 
land  one  of  his  feet  on  the  yelping  brutes  below  him, 
in  an  attempt  to  stop  their  noise.  The  dogs,  the  court, 
the  bit  of  sky,  the  man  himself  are  all  vivid,  actual  and 


xrbom^s='c:biery  Salles  387 

full  of  life  and  movement.  As  a whole,  however,  the 
composition  is  spotted  and  lacks  balance  and  massing. 

The  Bulldog  and  Scotch  Terrier  here  is  a small  picture 
of  the  larger  sketch  already  described. 

With  Delacroix  the  museum  has  gained  even  more. 
These  are  his  smaller  pictures  illustrating  scenes  from 
Shakespeare  and  Walter  Scott,  such  as  the  Abduction 
of  Rebecca,  which  is  full  of  movement,  the  Fiancee 
d’Abydos,  the  Death  of  Ophelia,  Hamlet  and  Horatio, 
all  excellent  works.  The  romantic  elements  are  equally 
strongly  marked  in  Roger  Delivering  Angelica,  a most 
dramatic  picture,  which,  compared  with  the  same  subject 
treated  by  Ingres  is  a very  antithesis  in  its  point  of 
view.  As  an  animal-painter,  and  Delacroix  took  high 
rank  as  that,  he  is  only  represented  by  two  canvases,  both 
of  lions. 

There  are  thirteen  scenes  by  Daubigny,  of  which  per- 
haps the  most  important  are  La  Mare  aux  Cigognes,  La 
Vue  de  la  Tamise  a Lrith,  Les  Peniches,  L’fitang,  Les 
Bords  de  I’Oise,  Le  Moulin  de  Gylieu.  The  first  of 
these.  The  Pond  of  the  Storks,  has  as  foreground  a 
marshy  pool  where  rushes  and  water-lilies  grow  thickly. 
In  the  middle  of  it  are  five  or  six  storks  fishing  with 
their  long  necks  and  bills  and  making  dark  spots  on 
the  gleaming  surface.  At  the  right  is  a tree  in  blossom, 
and  beyond  a forest  of  trees  stands  deep  in  the  water. 
At  the  left  are  more  trees  on  a higher  bit  of  ground, 
and  beyond  soft  hills  blur  against  the  luminous  sky. 
A tender  tranquillity  broods  over  this  shaded  pool,  and 
soft  zephyrs  whisper  through  the  branches  and  scarce  lift 
the  leaves  and  blossoms.  The  pond  is  exquisite  in  its 
fleckings  and  reflections,  the  whole  scene  a dream  of 
beauty. 

Almost  everything  Diaz  loved  to  paint  has  at  least  one 


388 


Zbc  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


sample  here.  Mythologic  scenes,  nude  women,  animals, 
country  landscape.  Oriental  subjects  and  some  of  his 
beautiful  bits  of  the  Barbizon  forest. 

One  of  the  most  exquisite  of  them  all  is  L’Bploree.  It 
is  evening  in  the  woods.  In  this  dim  and  shrouding  light 
is  seen  a young  woman  turned  back  to,  but  slightly  to 
the  left,  her  head  bent  forward.  Her  shoulders  and  back 
are  bare  above  a gray  skirt.  The  colour  of  her  flesh  is 
wonderful.  The  soft  creaminess  of  the  skin,  the  delicious 
gradations  of  tone  are  indescribable  in  words.  And  over 
all  is  the  feeling  of  the  evening.  It  is  in  its  own  way 
as  rare  a tone-poem  as  a Corot. 

Sous  Bois  is  a characteristic  bit  in  the  very  heart  of 
the  Forest  of  Fontainebleau.  The  low,  scraggy^  trees  with 
mossgrown,  twisted  trunks  and  branches  suggest  in  their 
outline  something  of  an  old  New  England  orchard.  The 
leaves  are  not  too  thick  to  hide  the  gnarled  limbs,  nor 
to  prevent  the  sunlight  from  flickering  through  down  on 
to  the  mossy,  rocky  ground.  At  the  foot  of  two  trees 
close  together,  in  the  shade,  sits  a man  with  two  dogs 
beside  him.  One  lies  close  to  his  side,  the  other  stands 
at  his  right,  his  body  half  in  the  broad  shaft  of  light  that 
falls  beyond  the  man.  The  picture  is  full  of  the  sheen 
and  glimmer  and  soft  coolness  and  dim  glades  of  a 
summer  forest. 

Corot  has  many  lovely  examples  here,  the  most  notice- 
able being  La  Porte  d’ Amiens,  La  Route  d’Arras,  Le  Soir, 
L’figlogue,  Le  Vallon,  L’Etang. 

The  little  canvas  of  Le  Vallon  is  in  his  rather  early 
manner,  or  perhaps  better  in  his  transition  style.  The 
greenness  of  the  beautiful  scene  is  fairly  thrilling.  It  is 
so  very  green  and  sunny  that  it  is  hard  to  reconcile  it 
with  the  silvery  palette  Corot  is  mostly  known  by.  Yet, 
intense  as  it  is,  it  is  soft  and  exquisite  in  colour.  The 


Salles  389 

composition  is  almost  like  a Daubigny  with  its  solidity 
and  definiteness  of  place.  At  the  right  stretching  over 
to  beyond  the  centre  of  the  canvas,  is  a clump  of  trees, 
with  hedges  running  out  from  it  at  each  end.  The 
sun  is  behind  all  this  foliage  and  therefore  its  shadow 
fills  nearly  the  whole  of  the  foreground.  And  what  a 
tender,  luminous  shadow  it  is!  Between  the  trunks  and 
through  openings  in  the  leaves,  the  sun-bathed  sky  and 
fields  can  be  seen.  In  the  foreground,  mostly  in  the 
shadow,  are  a group  of  peasants,  a cow  and  a labourer. 
There  is  more  tangibility  here  than  in  some  of  Corot’s 
later  works,  but  it  has  almost  as  great  a charm  and 
poetic  feeling  as  his  best  known  canvases. 

The  Landscape  with  Cows  called  also  L’Btang,  is  a 
rather  curious  composition,  the  massing  of  the  five  or  six 
willows  against  the  sky  looking  a little  like  a procession 
of  long-legged,  soft-winged  birds,  wandering  through 
the  marshy  water.  It  is  however,  none  the  less  charming. 
Again,  as  so  often  with  Corot,  the  trees  are  silhouetted 
against  the  sky,  which  is  here  of  a soft  golden  tone  full 
of  the  effulgence  of  the  setting  sun.  The  trees  are  massed 
mostly  at  the  left,  growing  on  a point  of  land  that 
sharpens  into  the  water  to  nothing,  and  leaves  two 
willows  as  advance-guard,  striding  into  the  glowing 
pool.  Two  pows  stand  gazing  ruminatingly  about  in  this 
pool  which  fills  the  left  and  centre  of  the  foreground  and 
is  beautiful  in  its  silvery-golden  shimmer.  On  a high 
bank  a herdsman  in  a red  cap  sits  watching  the  cows,  and 
in  the  distance,  at  the  left,  a gray  hill  rises  against  the 
sunset  sky.  It  is  dreamy,  poetic,  soft  and  tender. 

One  of  the  most  important  of  the  Thomy-Thiery  Corots 
is  La  Route  d’Arras.  It  is  a scene  of  very  humble  peasant 
surroundings,  as  simple  and  frankly  stated  as  the  severest 
naturalist  could  desire.  Yet  how  Corot’s  brush  has  caught 


39° 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


the  poetry,  the  charm,  the  hidden  beauty ! No  longer 
banal,  low,  dingy  or  commonplace,  the  little  hamlet  with 
its  stagnant  pool,  its  thin,  poverty-stricken  trees,  its  old, 
red-roofed  cottages,  becomes  a tender  painter’s  dream, 
yet  so  real,  so  true,  that  there  can  be  no  doubts  of  its 
actual  existence.  At  the  right,  stretching  diagonally  to 
the  central  plane  of  the  picture,  is  the  row  of  beech,  birch 
and  ash-trees,  with  slender,  crooked  trunks  and  scattering 
leaves  of  gray-green,  that  mass  against  a pale  sky,  soft, 
wide-arched,  infinite.  At  the  right  of  the  trees  is  a line 
of  low  cottages  following  the  row  of  trees,  and  in  front 
the  torpid  gutter  reflecting  the  tree-trunks.  A wide  road 
stretches  out  to  the  horizon  at  the  left,  here  and  there 
dotted  with  heavy-headed  willows.  A horseman  walks 
toward  this  distance,  soft  clouds  float  in  the  pale,  clear 
sky.  A gentle  shadow  envelops  most  of  the  foreground. 

Le  Paysage  d’ltalie,  L’figlogue,  with  their  lengthened 
groups  of  trees,  the  Porte  d’Amiens,  Le  Chemin  de 
Sevres,  La  Soulaie,  L’Entree  de  Village,  Les  Chaumieres, 
— all  are  exquisite  notes,  subtle,  full  of  the  spirit  of  the 
painter,  he  who  saw  with  diflferent  eyes  from  most  of 
us  workaday  mortals,  — full  of  the  perfume  of  a quiet, 
peaceful  soul,  yet  as  true  and  just  as  serene. 

Of  all  the  landscape-painters  of  the  romantic  school, 
Theodore  Rousseau  is  here  represented  with  the  great- 
est variety  of  works  and  of  the  greatest  value.  There  are 
small  bits  of  tbe  highest  excellence,  like  Le  Coteau,  Le 
Passeur,  L’Ltang,  and  La  Plaine  des  Pyrenees  and  there 
are  the  larger  canvases,  evincing  still  more  clearly  his 
wonderful  mastery,  such  as  Les  Chenes,  Les  Bords  de  la 
Loire,  Le  Printemps,  Le  Village  sous  les  Arbres. 

The  foreground  of  Les  Bords  de  la  Loire  is  a low 
marsh,  over  which  the  river  has  flowed  into  little  pools 
and  inlets.  In  one  of  these  bigger  inlets  in  the  very 


XTbom^stCbxeri?  Salles 


391 


centre  of  the  foreground,  a fisherman  has  moored  his 
boat  at  the  edge  of  the  marshy  shore,  and,  leaning  over 
its  side,  he  is  washing  his  nets.  Back  of  him  and  a little 
to  the  left,  is  a group  of  trees  under  which  a peasant  sits 
watching.  Beyond,  again,  the  wide  unbroken  Loire,  till 
it  reaches  the  farthest  bank  which,  with  its  trees,  a 
church  and  some  cottages,  blurs  softly  against  the  sky. 
This  sky  is  gray,  illumined  here  and  there  with  the  rays 
of  the  sun  behind  the  clouds.  It  is  a beautiful  landscape, 
full  of  the  peace  of  a quiet  spot  far  from  the  noise  and 
turmoil  of  city  life.  Like  all  of  Rosseau’s  canvases  it  is 
surcharged  with  rich,  deep  colour,  vigorous  yet  tender. 

Les  Chenes  shows  how  differently  he  paints  the  oak 
from  Dupre.  He  sees  in  it  perhaps,  less  of  mood,  and 
more  of  tree.  Dupre  often  seems  to  endow  his  marvellous 
French  oaks  with  a personality  that  makes  them  half- 
human. With  Rousseau  they  are,  if  less  personified,  none 
the  less  wonderful.  Actual  trees  of  actual  forests,  taken 
root  and  branch  right  out  of  mother  earth,  they  seem 
positively  planted  in  these  compositions  of  this  father 
of  modern  landscape  art.  This  one  is  a picture  of  a rich 
green  field,  crossed  by  a narrow,  curving  roadway.  In 
the  middle  ground  are  three  of  the  tremendous  oaks, 
their  trunks  grouped  together  in  the  centre,  with  several 
more  separate  ones  at  short  distances  apart.  Their  foliage 
makes  one  mass,  even  the  limbs  of  those  farthest  meeting 
the  middle  group.  The  shadows  are  spotted  over  the 
field  which  is  dotted  also  with  cows  and  peasants.  Noth- 
ing much  more  beautiful  can  be  imagined  than  the 
way  in  which  these  trees  mass  together  and  make  the 
composition. 

In  Village  sous  les  Arbres,  are  a number  of  little 
low  huts  nestling  under  the  deep  shade  of  some  enormous 
oaks.  Against  the  clear  sky  this  forms  a sombre,  heavy 


392 


Xlbe  art  of  tbe  Xouvre 


mass,  and  the  poor  little  cottages  seem,  in  their  shadowed 
retreat,  insignificant  and  lowly  enough.  A peasant  carry- 
ing two  pails  is  walking  toward  a rivulet  that  flows 
at  the  right  of  the  hamlet.  As  a composition  it  is  dig- 
nified, even  stately.  And  as  ever  the  great  oaks  are 
magnificently  portrayed. 

Millet  has  a number  of  beautiful  works,  among  them 
being  La  Bruleuse  d’Herbes,  Le  Fendeur  de  Bois,  La 
Lessiveuse,  Le  Vanneur,  La  Precaution  Maternelle,  and 
Les  Botteleurs,  which,  showing  the  peasants  making  hay, 
is  a canvas  almost  rivalling  the  Gleaners  in  popularity. 

La  Bruleuse  d’Herbes  is  one  of  the  single-figure  com- 
positions Millet  was  so  fond  of,  where  a solitary  woman 
stands  in  a landscape  that  tells  its  own  story  and  so  helps 
to  tell  hers.  Here  she  is  leaning  on  her  three-pronged 
rake,  looking  down  at  a burning  mound  of  dry  leaves 
and  twigs.  She  has  been  clearing  the  ground  and  all 
about  her  is  the  dry,  hubbly  earth,  and  back,  against 
which  she  is  silhouetted,  is  the  illimitable  sky,  enveloping 
all.  There  is  infinite  patience,  a calmness  born  of  long 
experience,  a oneness  with  stern  nature  in  this  admirably 
drawn  and  poised  figure,  which  is  in  a shadow  that  is 
only  lightened  on  her  left  shoulder  and  down  the  left 
half  of  her  heavy  apron.  Scarcely  any  of  Millet’s  pic- 
tures are  fuller  of  poetry  than  is  this  little  canvas. 

La  Lessiveuse  is  the  interior  of  a kitchen  lighted  only 
from  the  left,  with  the  house\vife  standing  by  her  huge 
tub  pouring  the  lye  on  to  the  cloth  thrown  over  it.  The 
steam  rises  in  thick  vapour  and  she  has  pulled  back  her 
skirts  to  keep  them  away  from  the  too  strong  fumes. 
She  is  so  placed  that  the  light  strikes  the  left  side  of  her 
face,  the  upper  part  of  her  body,  a little  on  the  right  below 
the  waist  and  her  right  arm.  The  rest  of  her  body  is 
thrown  into  shadow  by  the  tub.  This  is  an  immense  but 


Ubomi^sUbier^  Salles 


393 


rather  low.  wooden  affair  bound  about  many  times  with 
wooden  hoops  and  resting  upon  two  wooden  saw-horses. 
Behind  the  woman  is  the  big  fireplace  where  the  fire 
crackles  about  the  pot  of  grease.  The  woman  herself, 
dressed  in  roughest  of  peasant  clothes,  is  interesting  even 
as  mere  spots  of  colour,  with  her  gray  cap,  her  rose 
bodice  and  her  blue  apron.  As  a personality  she  is  more 
than  interesting.  Vigour,  absorption  in  her  work,  firm- 
ness of  muscle,  quietness  of  pose  all  go  to  make  this 
sturdy  figure  a sort  of  prose  pastel. 

Le  Vanneur  is  still  another  interior,  and  one  with 
even  less  light  is  the  barn  wherein  is  the  winnower. 
Coming  from  the  left,  which  is  the  direction  from  which 
comes  the  light  also,  is  the  man,  bent  almost  double  back- 
wards under  the  weight  of  an  enormous  flat,  scuttle- 
shaped basket.  This  is  filled  with  grain  and  from  it  a 
cloud  of  chaff  arises.  The  labourer  is  in  strict  profile, 
dressed  in  a gray  waistcoat  and  blue  overalls.  As  he 
staggers  across  the  barn  the  light  strikes  against  his 
back  and  hits  his  left  hand,  thus  making  a spot  of  bril- 
liancy toward  the  centre  of  the  picture  and  helping  to 
balance  the  composition.  It  is  only  the  simplest  sort  of' 
scene,  of  a bit  of  rough  peasant  life.  But  by  the  arrange- 
ment of  light,  by  the  choice  of  sympathetic  if  very  quiet 
colours,  by  very  excellent  and  very  forceful  drawing,  it 
would  be  a splendid  piece  of  work  even  without  the 
attribute  that  was  in  everything  Millet  did,  — that  soul- 
quality  without  which  none  of  his  canvases  would  be 
truly  his. 

The  collection  of  Troyons  in  these  rooms  is  wonder- 
ful. They  were  picked  with  great  discrimination  and 
taste  and  almost  every  one  is  a masterpiece.  The  Hau- 
teurs de  Suresnes  is  perhaps  the  most  marvellous,  though 
others  are  almost  as  beautiful,  such  as  L’Abreuvoir, 


394 


ZTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


Le  Gue,  La  Barriere,  La  Rencontre  des  Troupeaux,  La 
Provende  des  Ponies. 

In  the  first  of  these  the  Seine  makes  a broad  curve  as 
it  sweeps  on  toward  the  low  hills  that  break  the  line  of 
the  horizon.  On  a level  rise  of  ground  a herd  of  cows 
is  grazing  while  a young  boy  keeps  watch,  and  coming 
from  the  hills  at  the  right  is  a peasant  on  horseback. 
This  is  one  of  Troyon’s  canvases  noted  for  its  clearness 
of  atmosphere,  its  charm  of  landscape,  its  quiet  country 
life,  its  stolid  ruminating  cows. 

In  La  Barriere  a stream  runs  diagonally  across  the 
foreground,  a low  bank  sloping  to  it  on  the  right,  a rail 
fence  crossing  it  on  the  left.  In  the  middle  ground  in  the 
field  beyond,  a man  on  horseback  drives  a herd  of  cattle 
before  him.  Three  of  these  have  already  come  around 
the  corner  of  the  fence  and  are  going  to  the  water  for 
drink.  The  fields  stretch  out  broadly  on  all  sides  rising 
to  low  hills  in  the  distance  which  are  bathed  by  the  sun’s 
rays.  This  brilliant  canvas  is,  like  all,  a veritable  bit  of 
outdoors.  The  cows  are  portrayed  as  only  Troyon  could 
portray  them,  with  a solidity,  a massive  impassiveness, 
and  a surety  of  vision  that  did  not  need  microscopically 
exact  anatomical  drawing  to  make  them  splendidly  real. 

In  looking  at  Le  Matin,  once  more  one  is  inclined  to 
cavil  at  those  who  call  Troyon  a painter  but  no  poet.  If 
this  is  not  poetry,  then  it  is  painting  that  is  more  pregnant 
with  beauty  and  meaning  than  most  poems.  Here  are  the 
very  hours  of  the  day  that  Corot  loved.  Yet  wfith  what 
a vastly  different  brush  are  they  portrayed.  Perhaps 
it  is  this  very  difference  that  makes  the  critics  claim  that 
if  Corot  is  poetry,  then  forsooth  this  is  none.  Cer- 
tainly it  is  more  direct,  less  subtle,  more  vigorous,  less 
ethereal,  more  earthly  than  the  exquisite  tone-poems  of 
P^re  Corot.  Yet  it  is  none  the  less  so  full  of  the  spirit 


Itbom^sUbieris  Salles 


395 


of  the  morning,  so  charged  with  the  freshness  that  is 
perennial,  so  full  of  the  gladness  of  spring,  withal  so 
simply  natural,  so  exuberantly  sane,  that  it  must  be  a 
soul  of  one  idea  who  cannot  see  beauty  as  well  as  truth, 
poetry  as  well  as  vivid  reality  in  this  canvas. 

On  a path  coming  straight  forward  walks  a peasant 
holding  her  small  boy  by  the  hand.  The  pathway  is 
broken  by  the  long,  soft  shadows  thrown  by  the  border- 
ing trees  and  the  two  travellers,  for  directly  behind  them 
the  sun  is  just  rising.  At  the  woman’s  left  and 
ahead  of  her  two  cows  have  gone  to  the  pool  below  the 
pathway.  A dog  barks  at  them,  and  far  behind  in  the 
morning  mist  a peasant  in  a cart  talks  with  a woman. 
This  distance  is  peculiarly  lovely  in  tone.  The  shimmer- 
ing, hazy  air  is  rendered  with  a charm  very  unusual  in 
paintings,  however  common  in  nature.  And  it  is  a 
charm  that  rests  over  all  the  scene. 

The  Troupeau  de  Moutons  are  coming  out  of  a clear- 
ing into  the  woods,  driven  by  a shepherd-boy  behind 
them.  Back  of  them  the  sun  shows  clearer,  here  within 
the  forest  it  only  flecks  in  spots  and  streaks  over  boy  and 
sheep.  Troyon  was  said  to  paint  sheep  till  one  could 
hear  them  bleat,  and  this  flock  justifies  his  reputation. 
Surely  living  sheep  could  hardly  be  more  real,  or  seem 
more  capable  of  filling  the  air  with  their  baa-ahs. 

It  is  evening,  in  the  Rencontre  des  Troupeaux,  and 
through  the  broad  pathway  of  the  forest  one  man  driv- 
ing his  cows,  meets  a flock  of  sheep.  Beyond  the  road 
shines  the  clear  light  of  the  evening  sky. 

La  Provende  des  Poules  is  a bit  of  brilliant  colour.  A 
deep  thundercloud  is  back  of  the  farm  and  its  outbuild- 
ings, and  at  the  right  the  men  are  hastily  piling  hay  into 
the  carts.  In  the  foreground  a woman  has  just  fed  the 
flock  of  poultry  and  is  going  back  to  the  farm.  The 


396 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvre 


wonderful  light  that  breaks  through  the  clouds  strikes 
her  and  the  poultry  squarely,  intensifying  the  bright 
feathers  of  the  hens  and  roosters. 

No  pictures  by  Dupre  are  in  the  Louvre  except  in  this 
collection.  Here  are  twelve  of  his  canvases,  and  almost 
all  are  chefs-d’oeuvre,  not  so  greatly  retouched  and  re- 
handled as  are  some  of  his  later  works.  Studying  these 
it  is  possible  to  see  how  Dupre’s  contemporaries  could 
have  had  the  tremendous  admiration  for  this  solitary 
man  of  L’Isle  Adam,  who  worked  without  ceasing,  in 
great  humility  of  spirit,  avoiding  both  connoisseurs  and 
buyers,  fretting  with  a consciousness  of  what  he  felt 
to  be  the  impossibility  of  ever  adequately  representing 
the  spirit  of  his  vision.  It  is  this  care,  this  dissatisfaction 
that  has  made  us  of  to-day  feel  that  his  touch  was  heavy 
and  laboured,  that  his  canvas  was  overladen,  too  solid, 
too  full  of  consideration  and  lacking  in  that  esprit  and 
ease  which  seems  obligatory  in  works  of  art.  These,  in 
this  collection,  however,  show  him  at  his  best,  and,  in 
the  four,  L’Abreuvoir  et  Grand  Chene,  Les  Landes,  Soleil 
Couchant  apres  I’Orage,  and  Soleil  Couchant  sur  un 
Marais,  he  is  seen  to  be  a master  almost  without  an  equal 
in  his  own  line. 

The  Great  Oak  and  Watering-Place  shows  this  mighty, 
wide-armed  tree  filling  nearly  the  centre  of  the  picture. 
It  grows  on  a bank  that  slopes  down  rather  sharply  to 
a clear  pool  bordered  with  reeds,  that  fills  the  left  of  the 
foreground.  To  this  pool  come  straying  down  a dozen 
or  so  of  cattle  from  the  road  that  stretches  above  from 
the  tree  to  the  left.  Some  are  already  drinking,  some 
are  still  only  part-way  down  the  bank.  Under  the 
spreading  branches  of  the  tree  are  the  thatched  roofs 
of  peasants’  cottages,  and  walking  down  the  roadway 
toward  them  is  a man  with  his  scythe  over  his  shoulder. 


GREAT  OAK  AND  WATERING-PLACE 


Ubomi^sUblers  Salles  397 

At  the  left  is  a glimpse  of  plain  to  the  horizon,  and  at 
the  right  a hint  of  forest  against  the  sky.  This  sky  is  very 
beautiful,  filled  with  soft,  gray,  tremulous  clouds.  It  is 
a peaceful  scene  full  of  a placid  poetry. 

More  brilliant  in  colour  is  the  one  where  the  sun  is 
setting  over  a marsh.  In  the  foreground  a wet  marsh 
with  small  and  big  pools  of  reed-grown  water  is  spotted 
with  grazing  cattle.  In  the  distance  a line  of  trees  and 
thatched  cottages  are  dark  against  the  gleaming  sky.  The 
rays  of  the  sun,  just  hidden  by  the  lowest  bank  of  cloud, 
separate  fanlike  over  the  sky,  which  is  flecked  with  other 
clouds  whose  edges  only  hint  the  gold  behind  them. 
The  water  reflects  in  more  unbroken  expanse  the  golden 
light,  and  drowns  the  shadows  of  the  trees  and  reeds. 
It  is  softly  glorious  in  colour,  full  of  sentiment  and 
feeling,  one  of  the  very  best  canvases  by  Jules  Dupre. 

Almost  equal  to  it  is  the  Sun  Smiling  after  a Storm. 
Cows  again  are  drinking  from  the  pond,  at  one  side  of 
which  a huge  oak  grows,  its  branches  half-denuded  of 
leaves.  The  plain  extends  out  beyond  to  a dark  forest 
at  the  edge  of  the  horizon.  Gray,  heavy  clouds  fill  the 
sky  whose  outlines  are  limned  with  the  golden  pencil  of 
the  setting  sun. 

Les  Landes  is  a gray-toned  scene,  and  is  perhaps  the 
greatest  of  all  the  painter’s  canvases  here.  Above  all 
trees  Dupre  loved  the  oak,  and  it  is  the  oak  in  all  its 
moods,  in  sun,  in  rain,  in  quiet,  in  storm,  under  the 
morning  light,  darkened  against  the  evening  sky,  half- 
disrobed  of  its  reddened  leaves  or  full  of  richest  greenery, 
that  he  has  painted  over  and  over  with  a scrupulous 
fidelity  but  with  an  artistic  poetizing  that  reveals  the  very 
spirit  of  this  ancient  tree.  Here,  in  Les  Landes  are  the 
oaks  of  central  France.  Not  the  great,  free,  broad-armed, 
vigorous  oaks  of  Brittany,  but  the  poor,  little,  misshaped, 


39^ 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  3Louvre 


obstinate,  sad  trees  of  the  arid  soil  that  only  half-nour- 
ishes.  The  land  is  sadder  still  with  its  autumn  dryness 
and  burnt  surfaces.  In  the  foreground  some  cows  are 
grazing  in  a pasture  all  dry  and  full  of  crisp  heath  and 
herbs.  Farther  back  are  the  oaks,  growing  on  the  bank 
of  a river.  The  sky  is  full  of  clouds,  so  full  that  not  one 
gleam  from  the  sun  can  pierce  through.  One  critic  says 
that  Dupre  has  rendered  the  scene  with  “ a brush  rude, 
intense,  majestic,”  and  “shown  the  penetrating  silence 
of  the  solitude,  the  melancholy,  and  at  the  same  time  the 
dolorousness  and  splendour  in  that  deserted  land.” 

Meissonier  also  has  no  canvases  yet  in  the  Louvre  ex- 
cept these  in  this  gallery.  Among  these  other  men,  mostly 
of  the  school  of  Barbizon,  this  painter’s  works  stand  out 
with  an  individuality  and  almost  strangeness.  Meissonier 
out-Dutched  the  Dutch  in  his  extraordinary  care  for 
detail,  his  microscopical  finish.  It  may  be  said  that  he 
was  great  in  spite  of  his  historical  accuracy,  his  elaborate 
button-detail.  He  possessed  to  a high  degree  first-class 
draughtsmanship,  a feeling  for  movement,  mass  and 
climax.  He  could  tell,  none  better,  a story  most  won- 
derfully well.  He  had  a strong  dramatic  sense,  was 
a vigorous  if  not  subtle  or  poetic  colourist  and  was 
able  to  infuse  life  into  the  smallest,  most  minutel}'^  finished 
of  his  most  insignificant  canvases.  Coming  as  a boy 
to  Paris  when  romanticists  and  classicists  were  in  tire 
depths  of  their  most  violent  discussions,  he  vras  already 
strong  enough  and  original  enough  to  choose  a path  for 
himself  quite  unassailed  and  untroubled  by  either  school. 
For  years  he  painted  almost  entirely  little  genre  subjects; 
not  till  the  emperor  ordered  a picture  of  Solferino  did  he 
begin  the  military  scenes  that  have  made  his  name  world- 
renowned.  The  pictures  here  show  him  with  all  his  ex- 


zrbomi^strbier^  Salles  399 

quisite  brush-work,  his  vivacity,  his  reality,  his  fine  draw- 
ing, admirable  composition  and  striking  local  colour. 

Les  Ordonnances  is  one  where  his  wonderful  knowl- 
edge of  the  horse  is  apparent  in  the  four  animals  here 
depicted,  each  in  an  extremely  foreshortened  position, 
scarcely  lessened  in  difficulty  because  all  are  at  rest.  In 
front  of  a stone  house  are  two  mounted  hussars,  each 
holding  by  the  bridle  another  fully  harnessed  animal. 
The  wall  of  the  house  is  in  brilliant  sunshine,  augmented 
in  effect  by  the  three-cornered  shadow  of  a balcony  or 
landing  that  projects  from  a doorway  in  the  second  story. 
The  sun  is  high  in  the  heavens,  for  the  shadows  under 
the  horses’  feet  are  only  slightly  prolonged  and  their 
flanks  glisten  in  the  sharp  light.  The  two  forward  horses 
stand  facing  the  wall  and  the  grenadier  at  the  entrance 
on  guard.  The  hussar  is  almost  squarely  back  to,  giving 
a fine  view  of  his  braided  and  fur-bound  jacket,  slung 
across  his  shoulders.  The  other  soldier  has  his  two 
horses  planted  facing  almost  opposite  and  as  he  bends 
forward  over  his  bundle  of  blankets,  his  face  is  in 
shadow.  In  the  distance  another  grenadier  is  at  a 
wide  opening  of  a building  with  a sharp-pointed  roof. 
This  picture  was  once  in  the  Stuart  collection. 

The  Poet  is  seated  in  profile  at  the  right  at  a table 
which  is  in  front  of  a window.  He  is  in  gray,  in  the 
style  of  Louis  XV.,  and  as  he  sits  meditating  and  reading 
what  he  has  written,  he  lays  the  end  of  his  goose-quill  pen 
against  his  lips.  Large  books  rest  upon  the  table  and 
back  on  the  wall  a tapestry  hangs.  There  is  an  air 
of  distinction  about  this  that  satisfies,  even  if  it  does 
not  profoundly  impress. 

Le  Liseur  is  in  a costume  of  the  time  of  Louis  XIII., 
the  Flute-Player  in  that  of  Louis  XV.  These  are  both 
Meissonier  at  his  level,  which  is  also  his  best. 


400 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Xouvrc 


Of  the  several  Isabeys  perhaps  the  most  delightful 
is  A Marriage  in  the  Church  at  Delft.  The  colour  of  this 
little  picture,  so  crowded  with  tiny  figures,  is  like  the  heart 
of  a gem.  The  church  interior  is  thronged  with  spectators 
of  a noble  wedding.  Banners  hang  from  the  pillars,  and 
as  the  bride  and  groom  advance  from  the  left  up  toward 
the  stairway  leading  to  the  balcony,  they  are  followed 
and  preceded  by  a brilliant  cortege  in  the  costume  of  the 
seventeenth  century.  The  shimmer  of  the  satins  and  silks 
is  wonderful,  and  the  bride’s  gown  of  white  satin  is  a 
marvellous  rendering  of  the  lights  and  shadows  of  that 
entrancing  material. 

Besides  the  splendid  collection  of  bronzes  by  Barye 
there  is  one  sketch  by  him  in  oil.  It  shows  two  lions 
near  their  cave  on  a rocky  hillside.  One  has  his  head 
on  the  other’s  back.  The  surroundings  are  savage.  It 
is  evening,  and  the  loneliness,  the  wildness,  the  untam- 
ableness and  yet  the  intimacy  and  friendship  of  the  two 
wild  beasts  are  here  clearly  displayed. 


THE  END. 


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Revue  des  Deux  Mondes;  Collection  Thomy-Thiery,  In 
Gazette  des  Beaux  Arts. 

Lafenestre,  Georges  et  Eugene  Richtenberger  : Le  Musee 
National  du  Louvre. 

Lancret,  a.  P.  : Le  Musee  Royal. 

Larousse:  Dictionnaire  Universel. 

Lasteyrie,  F.  : Le  Palais  du  Louvre. 

Lemaitre,  a.  : Le  Louvre. 

Mander,  Carel  van:  Le  Livre  des  Peintres. 

Mantz,  Paul:  Frangois  Boucher,  Lemo>-ne  et  Natoire. 

Mantz,  Paul:  Decamps;  Les  Chefs-d’CEuvre  de  la  Peinture 
Italienne. 

Mauclair,  Camille:  The  Great  French  Painters. 

Maxwell,  Sir  William  Stirling:  Annals  of  the  Artists  of 

Spain. 


3Bfbno0rapbi? 


403 


Meissner,  Franz  Hermann  : Veronese. 

Merson,  Olivier;  Ingres,  Sa  Vie  et  Ses  CEuvres. 

Merson,  Olivier:  La  Peinture  Frangaise  au  XVIH  et  au  XVIIH 
Siecle. 

Michel,  Andre:  Frangois  Boucher. 

Michel,  E.  : Les  Cuyp,  In  Gazette  des  Beaux  Arts;  Rubens,  Sa 
Vie,  Son  CEuvre  et  Son  Temps. 

Mollett,  J.  W.  : Watteau. 

Morelli,  Giovanni  : Critical  Studies  of  Italian  Painters. 

Muntz,  E.  : La  Renaissance ; Histoire  de  I’Art  Pendant  la 
Renaissance;  Leonardo  da  Vinci. 

Muther,  Richard;  The  History  of  Modern  Painting. 

Nolhac,  Pierre  de:  Nattier,  Peintre  de  Mesdames,  In  Gazette 
des  Beaux  Arts. 

Pater,  Walter:  The  Renaissance. 

Pattison,  Mme.  M.  : Claude  Lorrain,  Sa  Vie  et  Ses  CEuvres. 
Perkins,  F.  Mason  : Giotto. 

Pillet,  Charles  ; Mme.  Vigee-Le  Brun. 

Plunkett,  Count:  Botticelli  and  His  School. 

PoRTALis,  Roger:  Honore  Fragonard,  Sa  Vie  et  Son  CEuvre. 
Redgrave,  R.  and  S. ; A Century  of  Painters. 

Rinder,  Frank:  The  New  Louvre,  In  Magazine  of  Art. 

Robaut,  Adolf,  Ernest  Chesneau,  et  Fernand  Calmettes  : 

L’CEuvre  Complet  de  Eugene  Delacroix. 

Rosenberg,  Adolf:  Watteau. 

Rothenstein,  Will:  Goya,  In  Saturday  Review. 

Sensier,  a.  : Souvenirs  sur  Th.  Rousseau. 

Silvestre,  T.  H.  : Histoire  des  Artistes  Vivants. 

Smith,  Charles  Sprague  ; Barbizon  Days. 

Smith,  J.  : Catalogue  Raisonne. 

Stanley  : Synopsis  of  Dutch  and  French  Painters. 

Stearns,  F.  P.  ; Life  and  Genius  of  Jacopo  Robusti. 
Stephens,  F.  G.  : Flemish  and  French  Pictures. 

Stothart,  James  : French  and  Spanish  Painters. 

Stranahan,  C.  H.  : A History  of  French  Painting. 

Streeter,  A. : Botticelli. 

Sturgis,  Russell  : Liibke’s  History  of  Art,  Edited. 

Symonds,  j.  a.  : Renaissance  in  Italy,  The  Fine  Arts. 
Thomson,  David  Croal;  The  Barbizon  School  of  Painters. 
ViARDOT,  Louis:  Wonders  of  European  Art. 

Visconti,  E.  Q.  et  T.  B.  Emeric-David  ; Le  Musee  Frangais. 
ViTU,  A. : Paris. 

Waagen,  G.  F.  : Peter  Paul  Rubens ; Handbook  of  Painting, 
German,  Flemish,  and  Dutch  Schools. 

Watson,  Thomas:  Story  of  France. 

Wauters,  a.  j.  ; La  Peinture  Flamande. 

Weale,  W.  H.  j.  ; Hans  Memlinc. 

Wedmore,  F.  : The  Masters  of  Genre  Painting;  Studies  in  Eng- 
lish Art. 

Woltmann,  Alfred:  Holbein  und  Seine  Zeit. 

WoLTMANN  and  Woermann  : History  of  Painting. 


IFnbei 


Albertinelli,  73;  “Visitation,” 
75 ; “ Virgin  and  Child,” 

75- 

Albizzi,  Giovanna  degli,  53. 

Alcuin,  4. 

Alexander  VII.,  Pope,  17. 

Alexandre  Arsene,  64,  76,  92, 
165,  166,  176,  i^,  191,  222, 
234,  256,  262. 

Algerine  Museum,  Louvre, 
27. 

Andrea  del  Sarto  (see  Sarto, 
Andrea  del). 

Androuin,  8. 

Angiviller,  Comte  d’,  31. 

Antonello  da  Messina  (see 
Messina). 

Armstrong,  71. 

Audran,  Claude,  292. 

Bacchiacca,  “ Portrait  of  a 
Young  Man,”  123. 

Bailly,  30. 

Baldovinetti,  Alesso,  48. 

Barocci,  “ Virgin  in  Glory,” 
261-262. 

Barry,  Madame  du,  19,  20. 

Barye,  385,  400. 

Bassano,  104,  112. 

Bastile,  The,  6,  8. 

Beechey,  Sir  William, 
“ Brother  and  Sister,”  139. 

Bellini,  Gentile,  84-85 ; “ Por- 
traits of  Two  Men,”  85-86. 

Bellini,  Giovanni,  84,  90-91, 
93,  loi,  105 ; “ Holy  Fam- 
ily.” 8s,  96. 


Bellini,  Jacopo,  84. 

Benedetti,  Abbe,  17. 

Berchem,  225. 

Berenson,  37,  50,  55,  71,  105- 
107,  247. 

Bernini,  17-18. 

Beruete,  371. 

Betfort,  Duke  of,  7. 

Bissolo,  86. 

Blanc,  Charles,  269,  270,  291, 
306. 

Blashfield  and  Hopkins,  55. 

Bol,  Ferdinand,  216,  217; 

“ The  Mathematician,”  216- 
217;  “Portrait  of  a Man,” 
217. 

Bolingbroke,  17. 

Bonheur,  Rosa,  324. 

Bonifazio,  106,  112;  “Holy 
Family  with  Elizabeth  and 
Joseph,”  111-112. 

Bonington,  143 ; “ Francois 

I.  and  the  Duchess  d’£- 
tampes,”  143. 

Bordone,  Paris,  28 ; “ Por- 

trait of  a Man,”  112-113. 

Botticelli,  50-51,  no;  “,Le 
Magnificat  ” ( Madonna  ) , 

51-52;  “Virgin,  Child,  and 
St.  John,”  52-53;  Lemmi 
Frescoes,  50,  53-55;  “Lo- 
renzo Tomabuoni,”  etc., 
53-54;  “Giovanni  Toma- 
buoni,” etc.,  54-55- 

Boucher,  273,  294,  301-302, 
306,  307,  309,  316,  356,  378; 
“ Diana  at  the  Bath,”  300- 


405 


4o6 


In^ei 


301 ; “ The  Target,”  301 ; 
“ Three  Graces,”  373-374. 
Bourbon,  Jeanne  de,  7. 
Brauwer,  Adriaen,  157,  161, 
192,  193 ; “ The  Smoker,” 

192- 193;  “The  Operation,” 

193- 

Brebion,  20. 

Breughel,  Jan,  158,  190; 

“ The  Air  and  the  Earth,” 

153-154- 

Breughel,  Peter,  153,  190; 
“ Reunion  of  the  Mendi- 
cants,” igo;  “Parable  of 
the  Blind,”  190-191. 
Brigiardini,  45. 

Bril,  Matthaus,  152. 

Bril,  Paul,  152,  154;  “Diana 
and  Her  Nymphs,”  152- 
153:  “Duck  Shooting,” 

153- 

Bronzino,  “A  Sculptor,”  113. 
Brownell,  268. 

Brun,  71. 

Brunellesco,  45. 

Bullant,  Jean,  10,  14. 

Burger,  377. 

Buti,  Lucrezia,  46,  47. 

Cabanel,  35. 

Campana,  The,  Louvre,  27. 
Campana  Museum,  34. 
Canaletto,  117. 

Cantarini,  266. 

Caracci,  Agostino,  114,  116, 
285. 

Caracci,  Annibale,  114,  116, 
130,  IS3,  283,  285;  “Sleep- 
ing Christ,”  1 14;  “Virgin 
with  Cherries,”  114-115; 
“Dead  Christ,”  etc.,  114, 

1 1 5,  262. 

Caracci,  Lodovico,  113,  114, 

1 16,  285. 

Caravaggio,  115,  116,  118-119, 
127,  129,  200,  285 ; 

“ Death  of  the  Virgin,” 
1 19;  “Portrait  of  Alof  de 
Wignacourt,”  119. 
Carpaccio,  112;  “St.  Etienne 


Preaching  at  Jerusalem,” 
95-96. 

Catena,  86. 

Catherine,  wife  of  Henry 

V.,  7. 

Cavaignac,  General,  23. 

Cavallini,  39. 

Cerceau,  Androuet  du,  14 

Chambre  aux  Joyaux, 
Louvre,  7. 

Chambre  des  Comptes, 
Louvre,  ii. 

Champaigne,  162;  “Portrait 
of  Mother  Catherine  Agnes 
Arnaud,”  etc.,  162  - 163  ; 
“ Frangois  Mansard  and 
Claude  Perrault,”  163-164; 
“ Portrait  of  Richelieu,” 
164  172-173;  “Christ  on 
the  Cross,”  164;  “Dead 
Christ,”  164;  “St.  Philip,” 
164;  “Portrait  of  Him- 
self,” 164 

Chardin,  289,  294,  295-296, 
302,  306;  “The  Blessing,” 
296-297,  298;  “The  House- 
keeper,” 297;  “The  Busy 
Mother,”  297-298 ; “ Vari- 
ous Utensils,”  374;  “House 
of  Cards,”  374 

Charlemagne,  4 

Charles  I.  of  England,  29, 
100,  175,  199. 

Charles  V.,  6-8,  10,  ii,  13,  20. 

Charles  V.  of  Germany,  9-10. 

Charles  VI.,  7,  8,  12. 

Charles  VII.,  12. 

Charles  VIII.,  8,  12,  90. 

Charles  IX.,  12,  13,  267. 

Charles  X.,  22,  33. 

Chatelet,  The,  8. 

Chavannes,  Puvis  de,  345. 

Chesneau,  139. 

Chigi,  Cardinal,  17. 

Childebert,  4 

Cima  da  Conegliano,  93; 
“ Virgin  and  Child,”  92. 

Cimabue,  38 ; “ hladonna,” 

37-38;  “ Rucellai  Ma- 

donna,” 37. 


Hn^ei 


407 


Cingola,  107. 

Clagny,  Abbe  de,  lo-ii. 

Clement,  326. 

Clouet,  Franqois,  28,  267-268; 
“ Charles  IX.,”  267-268 ; 

“ Elizabeth  of  Austria,” 
267-268. 

Colbert,  16-18,  29. 

Colonnade,  Halls  of  the,  34. 

Colvin,  Sidney,  144. 

Condamine,  M.  de  la,  31. 

Conegliano,  Cima  da  (see 
Cima). 

Constable,  John,  138,  142,  239, 
348 ; “ The  Rainbow,”  142 ; 
“ Bay  of  Weymouth,”  etc., 
142-143- 

Cook,  Herbert,  95. 

Corot,  234,  308,  33Q-342,  357, 
36s,  366,  38s,  388,  394; 
“ View  of  the  Forum,”  342 ; 
“ View  of  the  Colosseum,” 
342 ; “ A Landscape,”  342- 
343;  “A  Morning” 
(“  Dance  of  the  Nymphs  ”), 
343-344;  “Porte  d’ Ami- 
ens,” 388,  390;  “Route 

d’Arras,”  388,  389-390 ; “ Le 
Soir,”  388 ; “ L’Eglogue,” 

388,  390;  “Le  Vallon,” 
388-389 ; “ L’Etang  ” ( or 

“Landscape  with  Cows”), 
388  - 389 ; “ Le  Paysage 

d’ltalie,”  390 ; “ Chemin  de 
Sevres,”  390 ; “ La  Sou- 

laie,”  390;  “Entree  de  Vil- 
lage,” 390 ; “ Les  Chaumi- 
eres,”  390. 

Correggio,  30,  81,  97,  107, 
1 14,  127,  129,  13 1,  255-256, 
262,  319,  320,  335,  371 ; 
“Jupiter  and  Antiope,”  256- 
257 ; “ Mystic  Marriage  of 
St.  Catherine,”  257-258. 

Cour  aux  Offices,  La,  Louvre, 
II. 

Courbet,  364-365 ; “ Inter- 

ment at  Omans,”  333; 
“ Wounded  Man,”  365 ; 
“Deer”  (2),  365-366; 


“ Man  with  the  Leather 
Belt,”  384. 

Court  of  the  Louvre,  22. 

Cousin,  Jean,  267;  “Last 
Judgment,”  267. 

Couture,  “ Romans  of  the 
Decadence,”  368-369. 

Coypel,  Antoine,  288 ; “ Su- 
sannah and  the  Elders,” 
288 ; “ Esther  in  the  Pres- 
ence of  Ahasuerus,”  288. 

Coypel,  Charles  Antoine,  288; 
“ Perseus  Delivering  An- 
dromeda,” 288. 

Cranach,  146-147;  “Portrait 
of  John  Frederick  III.,” 
145 ; “ Portrait  of  an  Un- 
known Man,”  145  - 146 ; 
“Venus  in  a Landscape,” 
146. 

Credi,  Lorenzo  di,  69,  92 ; 
“Madonna  Enthroned,”  etc., 
57-58 ; “ Mary  Magdalene,” 
58 ; “ Christ  Appearing  to 
Mary  Magdalene,”  77. 

Crequy,  Due  de,  17-18. 

Crevelli,  Lucrezia,  72. 

Crivelli,  “ St.  Bernard  of 
Siena,”  86. 

Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle,  40. 

Cuyp,  Aelbert,  222-223,  224, 
355  ; “ Landscape,”  223 ; 

“ Marine,”  223  ; “ Depar- 

ture for  the  Promenade,” 
223. 

Dagobert,  4. 

Daubigny,  355,  366,  385,  389; 
“ Springtirpe,”  366  - 367 ; 
“ Vintage  in  Burgundy,” 
367 ; “ Pond  of  the  Storks,” 
387;  “Vue  de  la  Tamise 
a Frith,”  387;  “Les  Pe- 
niches,”  387 ; “ L’Ftang,” 

387 ; “ Les  Bords  de  I’Oise,” 
387;  “Le  Moulin  de  Gy- 
lieu,”  387. 

David,  22,  31,  302,  309-310. 
316,  317,  321,  322,  323-324, 
337-338,  369;  “Oath  of  the 


4o8 


lln&er 


Horatii,”  309,  334;  “ Beli- 
sarius  Asking  Alms,”  eta, 
309 ; “ Coronation  of  Napo- 
leon,” 312-313;  “Rape  of 
Sabines,”  313-314;  “Leoni- 
das at  the  Pass  of  the 
Thermopylae,”  314;  “Por- 
trait of  Pope  Pius  VII.,” 
314;  “ Portrait  of  Himself,” 
314;  “Portrait  of  Madame 
Recamier,”  3 14-3 15. 

Da  Vinci  (see  Leonardo). 

Decamps,  228,  327-329,  330, 
385-386 ; “ The  Caravan,” 

329 ; “ Bulldog  and  Scotch 
Terrier,”  329-330,  387 ; “ On 
the  Towpath,”  350-351 ; 
“ Elephant  and  Tiger  at 
Stream,”  386;  “Street  of 
Smyrna,”  386 ; “ Knife- 

Grinder,”  386 ; “ Beggar 

Counting  His  Gains,”  386; 
“ Valet  of  the  Dogs,” 
386  - 387 ; “ Bell  - Ringers,” 
386 ; “ Hunting  Dogs  at 

Rest,”  386;  “Monkey 
Painter,”  386. 

De  Goncourt,  294,  304,  306. 

Delacroix,  Eugene,  138,  142, 
323,  326,  327,  328,  332,  338, 
345-346,  349,  385 ; “ Bark  of 
Dante,”  346-347 ; “ Massa- 
cre of  (ihios,”  347-349 : 
“ The  Twenty-eighth  of 
July,”  349;  “Women  of 
Algiers,”  etc.,  349-350 ; 
“ Entry  of  the  Crusaders 
into  Constantinople,”  350 ; 
“ Portrait  of  Himself,”  383- 
384 ; “ Fiancee  d’Abydos,” 
387 ; “ Death  of  Ophelia,” 
387 ; “ Hamlet  and  Hora- 
tio,” 387 ; “ Abduction  of 
Rebecca,”  387 ; “ Roger  De- 
livering Angelica,”  387. 

Delaroche,  Paul,  327,  356, 
“Young  Martyr,”  327; 
“ Princes  in  the  Tower,” 
344-345- 

Delecluse,  Etienne,  31. 


Delorme,  Philibert,  10,  14. 
Delorme’s  Faqade,  2. 

Denner,  “ Portrait  of  a 
Woman,”  151. 

Desportes,  289 ; “ Chasseur,” 
289;  “ Portrait  of  Himself,” 

289,  290-291 ; “ Diana  and 
Blond,”  289-290;  “Bonne, 
Nonne  and  Ponne,”  290; 
“ Portrait  of  a Hunter,” 

290. 

De  Troy,  288,  291-292;  “ First 
Chapter  of  the  Order  of 
the  Holy  Ghost,”  291. 

De  Witte,  158. 

Diaz,  239,  330-331,  355,  356, 
357,  385,  387-388;  “No  En- 
trance,” 330 ; “ Fairy  with 
Pearls,”  330;  “Birch-Tree 
Study,”  331 ; “ The  Bohe- 
mians,” 331 ; “ Under  the 
Trees”  (2),  351,  388; 

“ L’fiploree,”  388. 

Diderot,  304. 

Dilke,  Lady,  296,  309. 
Domenichino,  “ Communion 
of  St.  Jerome,”  32,  115; 
“St.  Cecilia,”  115-116. 
Donatello,  45. 

Dou,  Gerard,  199,  211-213, 
216,  217,  219,  227,  229,  238; 
“ Dropsical  Woman,”  213- 
214;  “At  the  Grocery,” 
214-215;  “Girl  with  a 
Fowl,”  215-216. 

Doyen,  31 1. 

Drouais,  334. 

Duban,  23. 

Dubois,  Amboise,  28. 
Duchatel,  Comtesse,  62. 

Du  Guesclin,  6,  7. 

Dupre,  Jules,  355,  385,  391; 
“ L’Abreuvoir  et  Grand 
Chene,”  396  - 397,  “ Les 

Landes,”  396,  397  - 398 ; 

“ Soleil  Couchant  apres 
rOrage,”  396,  397 ; “ Soleil 
Couchant  sur  un  ^larais,” 
396,  397- 

Diirer,  86,  107,  126,  143-144, 


•ffuDex 


409 


146;  “An  Old  Man,”  144- 
145- 

Dyck,  Van  (see  Van  Dyck). 

Elsheimer,  150. 

Escalier  Darn,  Louvre,  44, 
SO. 

Este,  Isabella  d’,  66. 

Etampes,  Duchesse  d’,  10. 

Ethnographical  Museum, 
Louvre,  27. 

Fabriano,  Gentile  da,  40-41, 
84,  183;  “Virgin  and 

Child,”  41 ; “ Presentation 
in  the  Temple,”  41-42. 

Fiesole,  Giovanni  da  (see 
Fra  Angelico). 

Filippino  (see  Lippi,  Filip- 
pino). 

Flandrin,  352;  “Figure 
Study,”  351 ; “ Portrait  of 
a Young  Girl,”  351-352. 

Fontaine,  22. 

Fontainebleau,  10,  28,  307, 
328,  330,  342,  357- 

Fouquet,  16. 

Fra  Angelico,  40-41,  45,  49, 
62,  96,  201 ; “ Coronation  of 
the  Virgin,”  42-44;  “Be- 
heading of  St.  John  the 
Baptist,”  44;  “Crucifixion,” 
44,  SO. 

Fra  Bartolommeo,  28,  124, 
254;  “Holy  Family”  (or 
“ Marriage  of  St.  Cath- 
erine”), 73-75- 

Fragonard,  Jean,  294,  306- 
307 ; “ Music  Lesson,”  305  ; 
“ Sacrifice  of  the  High 
Priest  Coresus,”  etc.,  305- 
306;  “The  Bathers,”  378; 
“ Inspiration,”  378  - 379 ; 
“ Figure  of  Fantasy,”  378- 
379;  “A  Study,”  379. 

Francesca,  Pietro  della,  49. 

Francia  (see  II  Francia). 

Francken,  158. 

Franqois  I.,  3,  5,  8-1 1,  12,  21, 


27-28,  70,  71,  78,  79,  81, 
123,  246,  25s,  267,  272. 
Franqois  II.,  12,  112. 

Frizzoni,  71. 

Fromentin,  205,  222,  223,  224, 
225,  265,  367-368,  38s ; 

“ Arabian  Encampment,” 

367. 

Fyt,  160;  “Game  in  a 
Larder,”  159. 

Gabriel,  19-20. 

Gaddi,  Agnolo,  40. 

Gaddi,  Taddeo,  “ Salome’s 
Dance,”  40 ; “ Crucifixion,” 
40 ; “ Christ  Giving  the 

Soul  of  Judas  to  Demons,” 
40. 

Galerie  d’ Apollon,  Louvre,  14, 
15,  23,  27,  29,  31,  175,  284, 
345- 

Galerie  des  Rois,  Louvre,  14, 

34-  . 

Galerie  Rubens,  Louvre,  27, 
30,  35,  172,  177-180,  181, 
370. 

Galeries  des  Gardes,  Louvre, 

35- 

Gardens  of  the  Tuileries,  2. 
Garofalo,  266. 

Gautier,  43,  70,  81,  135,  160, 
258,  264. 

Gellee,  Claude  (see  Lorrain, 
Claude). 

Gentile  da  Fabriano  (see 
Fabriano). 

Gerard,  Baron  Franqois-Pas- 
cal  Simon,  320-321 ; “ Psy- 
che Receiving  the  Kisses 
of  Cupid,”  321 ; “ Portrait 
of  Isabey  and  His  Daugh- 
ter,” 321. 

Gericault,  323-324;  “Raft  of 
the  Medusa,”  323,  324-326, 
327 ; “ Epsom  Race,”  326- 

327. 

Ghirlandajo,  Ridolfo,  51,  55- 
56,  254;  “Visitation,”  55, 
56-57 ; “ Portrait  of  an  Old 
Man  and  Little  Boy,”  55, 


410 


Ifnbei 


57;  “Nativity,”  55;  “An- 
nunciation,” 55. 

Giordano,  Luca,  266 ; “ Mars 
and  Venus,”  267. 

Giorgione,  30,  90,  97,  98,  lOi, 
132 ; “ Holy  Family,”  93,  94- 
95 ; “ Concert,”  246-247. 

Giottino,  40. 

Giotto,  45,  345;  “St.  Francis 
of  Assisi  Receiving  the 
Stigmata,”  38-40. 

Giovanni,  Fra  (see  Fra  An- 
gelico). 

Gonzaga,  90,  100. 

Goujon,  Jean,  10,  ii,  12,  13, 
14- 

Gousse,  268. 

Goya,  138;  “Portrait  of 
(juillemardet,”  137;  “Young 
Spanish  Girl,”  137. 

Goyen,  Jan  van,  201,  237. 

Gozzoli,  Benozzo,  48,  51 ; 

“Triumph  of  St.  Thomas 
Aquinas,”  49. 

Grande  Galerie,  Louvre,  34, 
58,  64-171,  172,  266,  335. 

Greuze,  302-303,  306,  311, 

352 ; “ Broken  Pitcher,” 

303 ; “ The  Milkmaid,”  304 ; 
“ Study  of  a Young  Girl’s 
Head,”  304;  “The  Village 
Bride,”  304-305 ; “ Parental 
Curse,”  305 ; “ Punished 

Son,”  305 ; “ Head  of  a 
Young  Girl,”  379;  “Por- 
trait of  Himself,”  382. 

Gros,  321-322,  327,  346-347; 
“ Bonaparte  in  the  Pest 
House  at  Jaffa,”  321,  322- 
323.  336;  “Napoleon  at  Ar- 
cole,”  323 ; “ Napoleon  at 
Eylau,”  335-336. 

Gruyer,  71. 

Guardi,  “ Procession  of  the 
Doge,”  1 17;  “Fete  of  Jeudi 
Gras,”  1 17. 

Guariento  of  Padua,  104. 

Guercino,  116;  “Circe,”  116. 

Guerin,  323,  339. 

Guido  Reni  (see  Reni). 


Hals,  Frans,  139,  192,  193, 
198-199,  200,  218;  “Bohe- 
mian Girl,”  195-196,  “ Por- 
trait of  a Woman,”  196; 
“ Van  Beresteyn  Family,” 
196-197,  198;  “Van  Bere- 
steyn and  Wife,”  197-198. 

Hamerton,  138. 

Heem,  Jan  David  de,  151. 

Heist,  Van  der  (see  Van  der 
Heist). 

Henry  IL,  11-12,  267. 

Henry  HI.,  14,  267. 

Henry  IV.,  14-15. 

Henry  V.  of  England,  7. 

Henry  VHI.  of  England,  10, 

147. 

Heyden,  Van  der  (see  Van 
der  Heyden). 

Hobbema,  234,  239,  240 ; 

“ Landscape,”  240 ; “Water- 
Mill,”  240. 

Hogarth,  237. 

Holbein,  143,  146,  147;  “ Por- 
trait of  Anne  of  Cleves,” 
147-148;  “Portrait  of 
Richard  Warham,”  148- 
149;  “Portrait  of  Nicholas 
Katzer,”  149;  “Portrait  of 
Erasmus,”  149- 150. 

Hondecoeter,  238;  “Two 
Eagles,”  etc.,  238. 

Honthorst,  Gerard,  200,  201 ; 
“Robert  of  Bavaria,”  200; 
“ Man  with  the  Lute,”  200. 

Hooch,  Pieter  de,  230-231, 
233,  238,  329;  “Cottage 
Interior,”  231-232;  “Card 
Party,”  232-233. 

Hoppner,  “ Portrait  of  a 
Woman,”  140. 

Hotel  de  Grammont,  29. 

Hotel  de  Ville,  8. 

Hurault,  Jacques,  73. 

Huysmans,  165. 

Huysum,  243-244. 

II  Francia,  “ Nativity,”  64, 
65-66 ; “ Crucifixion,”  64. 

Ingres,  301,  317,  337-338,  352, 


387 ; “ La  Source,”  62-63 ; 
“ CEdipus  Interrogating  the 
Sphinx,”  63 ; “ Apotheosis 
of  Homer,”  336-337- 
Isabella  of  Mantua,  72. 
Isabelle,  wife  of  Charles  VI., 

7. 

Isabey,  385 ; “ Marriage  in  the 
Church  at  Delft,”  400. 

Jabach,  29. 

Jacque,  356,  357. 

Jaillot,  3. 

Jardin,  221 ; “ Charlatans  at 
the  Fair,”  222. 

Jaubert,  Comte,  23. 

John  of  England,  8. 

Jordaens,  166-167;  “Four 
Evangelists,”  167-168; 
“Family  Repast,”  168; 
“Concert  after  Meals,”  168; 
“The  King  Drinks,”  168-169; 
“Infancy  of  Jupiter,”  169. 

Kingsley,  Miss,  332. 

Kugler,  87. 

Lacaze  Collection,  34,  161, 
162,  181,  192,  370-379- 
Lacaze,  M.,  370,  375. 

La  Farge,  John,  345. 

La  Font  de  Saint  Yenne,  30. 
Lancret,  294. 

Landseer,  228. 

Largilliere,  300 ; “ Family 

Portrait  Group,”  372;  “Por- 
trait of  Le  Brun,”  381. 
Lawrence,  Sir  Thomas,  140, 
141-142;  “Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Augerstein,”  141. 

Lebeuf,  3. 

Le  Brun,  Madame  Vigee 
(see  Vigee-Le  Brun). 

Le  Brun,  Charles,  29,  31,  160, 
268-269,  271,  272,  273,  283- 
284,  285,  288,  289,  345,  372, 
381 ; “ Descent  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,”  259;  “Life  of  Al- 
exander Series,”  284-285 ; 


41 1 

“Apollo,”  284;  “The 
Blessing,”  284. 

Le  Flamand,  8. 

Lefort,  Paul,  130. 

Lefuel,  23-24;  “Staircase,” 
35- 

Lemercier,  7,  15-16,  20,  21. 
Lemmi,  Doctor,  53. 

Le  Moine,  Franqois,  288,  292, 
299;  “Juno,  Iris  and 

Flora,”  292 ; “ Hercules 

and  Omphale,”  372-373. 

Le  Nain  Brothers,  282. 

Le  Noir  Museum,  Louvre, 

27- 

Leonardo  da  Vinci,  9,  30,  38, 
40,  59,  60,  67,  74.  75,  76,  77. 
78,  97,  124,  251,  252,  254, 
316,  335;  “Mona  Lisa” 
(“La  Gioconda”),  26,  28, 
60,  69,  70,  72,  245-246,  251, 
252 ; “ Madonna  of  the 

Rocks,”  28,  69 ; “ Cena- 

cola,”  68,  69,  79 ; “ St. 

Anne,”  70;  “St.  John  the 
Baptist,”  71;  “La  Belle 
Feronniere,”  71-72;  “Vir- 
gin, St.  Anne  and  the 
Child  Jesus,”  246. 

Lescot,  Pierre,  10-14,  15.  16, 
22. 

Le  Sueur,  267,  268-269,  352; 
“ Life  of  St.  Bruno  Series,” 
33,  268-271 ; “ Cabinet  of 
the  Muses  Series,”  271 ; 
“ Apparition  of  St.  Scho- 
lastica,”  etc.,  282-283. 
Levau,  16,  17. 

Lingelbach,  225. 

Lippi,  Filippino,  46,  55. 

Lippi,  Filippo,  51,  86;  “Vir- 
gin and  Child,”  etc.,  45-48; 
“ Nativity,”  48. 

Lippo,  57,  184. 

Long  Gallery,  Louvre,  14-15. 
Lorrain,  Claude,  98,  152,  273, 
279 ; “ Landing  of  Cleo- 
patra,”  280;  “Village 
Dance),”  280 ; “ Samuel 

Anointing  David,”  280-281 ; 


412 


■ffnbei 


“ Ulysses  Restoring  Chry- 
seis,”  281 ; “ Campo  Vac- 
cino,”  281 ; “ Seaport  at 

Sunset,”  282. 

Lo  Spagnoletto  (see  Ri- 
bera). 

Lotto,  102,  107,  252 ; “ St. 
Jerome  in  the  Desert,”  105; 
“ Christ  and  the  Adulter- 
ess,” 105-106;  “Holy  Fam- 
ily,” 106. 

Louis,  Saint,  6,  ii. 

Louis  XL,  8,  12. 

Louis  XII.,  8,  12,  73. 

Louis  XIII.,  7,  15-16,  28,  155, 
272. 

Louis  XIV.,  4,  II,  16-19,  29- 
30,  72,  100,  160,  165,  175, 
213,  253,  283,  284,  288,  289, 
293,  301,  370. 

Louis  XV.,  19,  30. 

Louis  XVI.,  20-21,  30-31, 

234,  309- 

Louis  XVIII.,  22,  24,  33,  320. 

Louis  Philippe,  23,  33. 

Lubke,  71. 

Luini,  59,  62;  “Nativity,”  60- 
61 ; “ Adoration  of  the 

Magi,”  60,  61 ; “ Salome 
Receiving  the  Head  of 
John  the  Baptist,”  72-73. 

Luxembourg,  The,  30,  31,  33, 
35,  178,  268,  292. 

Maes,  240-241 ; “ The  Bless- 
ing,” 241. 

Mainardi,  56. 

Manetti,  Antonio,  45. 

Manetti,  Giovanni,  45. 

Mantegna,  Andrea,  84,  86-87; 
“ Crucifixion,”  87-88 ; “ Par- 
nassus,” 88-89 ; “ Madonna 
of  Victory,”  8^90. 

Mantz,  190,  301,  329. 

Maratta,  266 ; “ Maria  Mad- 
dalena  Rospigliosi,”  266. 

Marigny,  Marquis  de,  19-20, 
30. 

Marilhat,  329. 

Mary  of  Scotland,  12. 


Masaccio,  45-46. 

Matsys,  Quentin,  188-189; 
“ Banker  and  His  Wife,” 
189-190;  “Blessing  Christ,” 
190. 

Mayer,  Mile.,  316. 

Mazarin,  29,  253. 

Mazo,  131. 

Medici,  Catherine  de’,  i,  12- 
14,  27. 

Medici,  Marie  de’,  15,  177- 
178. 

Meel,  “The  Halt,”  164-165. 

Meissonier,  385,  398-399 ; 

“ Les  Ordonnances,”  399 ; 
“ The  Poet,”  399 ; “ Le  Li- 
seur,”  399;  “The  Flute 
Player,”  399. 

Memling  (or  Memlinc), 
Hans,  “ Virgin  and  Child,” 
61-62,  185;  “Mystic  Mar- 
riage of  SL  Catherine,” 
185-188. 

Mengs,  Raphael,  “ Portrait  of 
Marie-Amelie-Christine  of 
Saxony,”  151. 

Messina,  Antonello  da,  76 ; 
“ Portrait  of  a Man,”  90- 
92. 

Metsu,  Gabriel,  199,  227,  241 ; 
“ Vegetable  Market,”  227- 
228;  “Young  Woman  and 
Officer,”  228-229 ; “ The 

Cook,”  229-230. 

Meulen,  Van  der  (see  Van 
der  Meulen). 

Michallon,  340. 

Michel,  Emile,  280,  302. 

Michelangelo,  26,  49,  51,  74, 
77,  78,  79,  86,  97,  98,  103, 
123,  124,  132,  156,  252,  277, 
324 ; “ Leda,”  28 ; “ Last 
Judgment,”  49. 

Michelet,  226. 

Miel  (see  Meel). 

Mieris,  Fams  van,  the  Elder, 
“ Woman  at  Her  Toilet,” 
235- 

Mignard,  Pierre,  31,  284 

Mignon,  150. 


413 


Milanesi,  46. 

Millet,  Jean  Francois,  225, 
241.  355-358,  363,  364,  366, 
385 ; “ Paysan  Greffant,” 

357 ; “ Angelas,”  357-358, 

360 ; “ La  Mort  et  la 

Bucheron,”  358 ; “ Glean- 

ers,” 358-360,  392;  “Ber- 
gere,”  358 ; “ The  Sower,” 
360;  “In  Spring,”  360; 
“ Church  of  Greville,”  360 ; 
“ The  Bathers,”  361 ; “ Bru- 
leuse  d’Herbes,”  392  ; 
“ Fendeur  de  Bois,”  392 ; 
“ La  Lessiveuse,”  392-393  ; 
“Le  Vanneur,”  392,  393; 
“ La  Precaution  Mater- 
nelle,”  392 ; “ Les  Botte- 
leurs,”  392. 

Moliere,  237. 

Monet,  360. 

Montgomery,  12. 

Morales,  “ Christ  Carrying 
the  Cross,”  126-127. 

Morelli,  48,  71,  85,  loi,  122, 
247. 

Morland,  140-141 ; “ Halt,” 

140. 

Miintz,  71. 

Murillo,  129,  131,  133-134, 

371;  “Conception,”  34; 
“Holy  Family,”  134-135; 
“ Birth  of  the  Virgin,”  135- 
136 ; “ Virgin  and  Child 
with  Rosary,”  136;  “Mira- 
cle of  San  Diego,”  136; 
“Young  Beggar,”  136-137; 
“ Portrait  of  Quevado,” 
370;  “Portrait  of  the  Duke 
d’Assuna,”  370. 

Musee  de  Marine,  Louvre, 
27,  308,  385. 

Muther,  350. 

Napoleon  I.,  22,  24,  30,  32-33, 
42,  56,  87,  259,  303,  313,  320. 

Napoleon  HI.,  i,  23. 

Natoire,  299,  306;  “Three 
Graces,”  299 ; “ Marie  Le- 
czinska,”  300. 


Nattier,  298-299,  300,  382; 
“ Magdalene,”  299 ; “ Por- 
trait of  Adelaide,”  299 ; 
“ Mile,  de  Lambesc  and 
Young  Comte  de  Brienne,” 
372. 

Neefs,  “ Interior  of  a Cathe- 
dral,” 158. 

Netscher,  Casper,  “ Singing 
Lesson,”  241-242;  “Lesson 
on  the  Bass  Viol,”  241,  242- 
243- 

Nolhac,  298. 

Ollivier,  294. 

Opie,  “ Woman  in  White,” 
140. 

Oriental  Museum,  Louvre,  27. 

Ostade,  Adriaen  van,  207-208, 
221,  237;  “Family  Group,” 
208-209 ; “ Fish  Market,” 

209 ; “ The  Reader,”  209- 
210. 

Ostade,  Isaack  van,  208,  221 ; 
“Frozen  Canals,”  210; 
“ Halts  before  Taverns,” 
210;  “Winter  Scene,”  210. 

Paleologue,  Manuel,  8. 

Palma  Vecchio,  30,  112;  “Ad- 
oration of  the  Shepherds,” 
101-102. 

Pater,  294. 

Pavilion  de  Flore,  Louvre, 
14,  35- 

Pavilion  de  Lesdiguieres, 
Louvre,  15. 

Pavilion  de  L’Horloge, 
Louvre,  5,  16. 

Pavilion  des  Arts,  Louvre,  5. 

Pavilion  du  Roi,  Louvre,  ii, 
12,  13,  IS,  16. 

Percier,  22. 

Perrault,  Claude,  17-19,  20, 
21,  22,  29. 

Perugino,  28,  51,  64-65,  69, 
124,  254;  “Holy  Family,” 
66 ; “ Combat  between  Love 
and  Charity,”  66-67 1 “ Vir- 
gin and  Child,”  121 ; “ St. 


414 


Ifn&ei 


Sebastian,”  121-122; 

“ Apollo  and  Marsyas,” 
122. 

Petite  Galerie,  Louvre,  14. 
Petites  Salles  Fran^aises, 
266-271,  272. 

Philippe-Auguste,  3,  4-5,  9, 
13- 

Picault,  80. 

Pillet,  315. 

Pinturicchio,  182 ; “ Virgin 

and  Child,”  67. 

Piombo,  Sebastiano  del,  94, 
124;  “Visitation,”  28;  “St. 
John  the  Baptist,”  etc.,  123. 
Pisano,  39. 

Place  du  Carrousel,  2,  20,  24. 
Poelenburgh,  199,  244 ; “ The 
Bathers,”  199 ; “ View  of 
Mt.  Palatine,”  etc.,  199-200. 
Pompadour,  19,  20. 

Pontormo,  113. 

Ponzio,  Paolo,  10,  ii,  12,  13. 
Potter,  Paul,  222,  224,  234; 
“ Bull,”  224,  225  ; “ Horses 
before  a Thatched  Cot- 
tage,” 224-225  ; “ The  Prai- 
rie,” 225. 

Pourhus,  Frans,  154:  “Por- 
traits of  Henry  IV.,”  154- 
155;  “Portrait  of  Marie  de 
Medici,”  155;  “Portrait  of 
Guillaume  de  Vair,”  155. 
Poussin,  17,  152,  162,  164, 

272- 273,  279,  281,  309..  313: 
“ Rape  of  the  Sabines,” 

273- 274;  “Holy  Family,” 

274- 275 ; “ Vision  of  St. 

Paul,”  275-276;  “Time 
Rescuing  Truth,”  etc.,  276- 
278 ; “ Tlie  Bacchanals,” 

278 ; “ The  Concert,”  278 ; 
“ Four  Seasons,”  278-279. 

Primaticcio,  28. 

Prud’hon,  316-317,  330;  “Por- 
trait of  Madame  Jarre,” 
317;  “Justice  and  Ven- 
geance Pursuing  Crime,” 
317-319;  “Transportation 
of  Psyche,”  etc.,  319-320; 


“ Portrait  of  Baron  De- 
non,”  334-335. 

Raeburn,  “ Disabled  Sailor,” 
139-140. 

Raibolini  (see  II  Francia). 

Raphael,  26,  30,  40,  47,  51,  65, 
77,  78,  79,  83-84,  95,  97,  ii5, 

121,  124,  132,  133,  136,  151, 
157,  201,  236,  252,  268,  271, 
316,  337,  346;  “Holy  Fam- 
ily,” 28 ; “ St.  Michael,”  28, 

122,  123,  255 ; “ Apollo  and 

Marsyas,”  122;  “St. 
George,”  122,  123 ; “ Ma- 
donna of  the  Veil,”  123; 
“ St.  John  the  Baptist,” 
etc.,  123 ; “ St.  IMargue- 

rite,”  123 ; “ Portrait  of  a 
Young  Man,”  123;  “Belle 
Jardiniere,”  125,  253-255; 
“ Portrait  of  Baldassare 
Castiglione,”  253. 

Ravenstein,  Jan  van,  195. 

Raymond,  22. 

Raymond  du  Temple,  7. 

Redon,  M.,  21. 

Regnault,  331-332;  “Execu- 
tion without  Judgment,” 
331,  332-333;  “Equestrian 
Portrait  of  Juan  Prim,” 
368 ; “ Portrait  of  Mile. 

Breton,”  368. 

Rembrandt,  26,  72,  97,  106, 
130,  132,  150,  165,  192,  195, 
198,  201-202,  209,  210,  211- 
212,  216,  218,  222,  223,  227, 
229,  230,  240,  253,  255,  329. 
355 ; “ Supper  at  Emniaus,” 
too,  204-205 ; “ Home  of 
the  Carpenter,”  202 ; “ Phi- 
losopher in  ^leditation  ” 
(2),  202-203;  “Angel  Ra- 
phael Quitting  Tobias,” 
203 ; “ Good  Samaritan,” 

204-205 ; “ Portrait  of  an 
Old  Man,”  206 ; “ Portraits 
of  Himself”  (4),  206-207; 
“ Portrait  of  Hendrickje 
Stoffels,”  264-265. 


irn5ex 


415 


Rembrandt  Rooms,  201-208. 

Reni,  Guido,  116,  272,  285; 
“ Magdalene,”  115  ; “ Ecce 
Homo,”  1 15;  “St.  Sebas- 
tian,” 115;  “Dejanira  and 
the  Centaur  Nessus,”  262. 

Reynolds,  139,  140,  142. 

Ribera,  118,  119,  134;  “Ma- 
donna and  Child,”  128-129, 
370-371 : “ Adoration  of  the 
Shepherds,”  128;  “Entomb- 
ment,” 129. 

Richelieu,  15,  246,  276,  278. 

Richter,  71. 

Rigaud,  31,  285-286,  291,  299; 
“ Portraits  of  His  Mother,” 
286 ; “ Portrait  of  Louis 
XIV.,”  286-287 ; “ Portrait 
of  Bossuet,”  287 ; “ Por- 
trait of  Due  de  Lesdigui- 
eres,”  374-375 ; “ Portraits 
of  Le  Brun  and  Mignard,” 
381-382. 

Robusti,  Jacopo  (see  Tinto- 
retto). 

Romano,  Giulio,  40,  255,  266; 
“Nativity,”  83;  “Portrait 
of  a Man,”  83,  84;  “Ma- 
donna of  the  Veil,”  123 ; 
“ St.  Marguerite,”  123 ; 
“Trismph  of  Titus  and 
Vespasian,”  125. 

Romney,  138-139;  “Sir  Stan- 
ley,” 139. 

Rondinello,  85. 

Rosa,  Salvator,  118,  266; 

“Battle-Scene,”  119-120. 

Rosenburg,  71. 

Rottenhammer,  “ Death  of 
Adonis,”  150. 

Rousseau,  Theodore,  239,  355, 
356,  357,  363-364,  366,  385; 
“ Opening  in  the  Forest  at 
Fontainebleau,”  361  - 362 ; 
“ The  Marsh,”  362 ; “ The 
Storm,”  362 ; “ Along  the 
River,”  362-363 ; “ Le  Co- 
teau,”  390:  “Le  Passeur,” 
390;  “L’fitang,”  390;  “La 
Plaine  des  Pyrenees,”  390; 


“ Les  Chenes,”  390,  391 ; 
“ Bords  de  la  Loire,”  390- 
391;  “Le  Printemps,”  390; 
“ Village  sous  les  Arbres,” 
390,  391-392. 

Rubens,  106,  131,  132,  133, 
154,  155-157,  159,  166-167, 
170-171,  188,  192,  198,  201, 
216,  253,  259,  264,  278,  292, 
294,  345,  346,  375,  376; 
“ Kermesse,”  157;  “Flight 
of  Lot,”  157-158;  “Virgin, 
Child  Jesus  and  an  Angel,” 
etc.,  158;  “Portrait  of 
Baron  Henri  de  Vicq,” 
173;  “Tourney  in  Front 
of  the  Moat,”  etc.,  173-174; 
“ Marie  de  Medici  Series,” 
33,  173,  177-180,  292;  “Por- 
trait of  Helen  Fourment 
and  Two  of  Her  Children,” 
262-263. 

Rubens  Room,  Louvre  (see 
Galerie  Rubens). 

Rue  de  Louvre,  18. 

Rue  de  Marengo,  20. 

Rue  de  Rivoli,  i. 

Ruskin,  103,  221,  279-280. 
Ruysdael,  165,  222,  225,  234, 
239,  240 ; “ The  Thicket,” 

225- 226;  “The  Tempest,” 

226- 227 ; “ The  Ray  of  Sun- 
light,” 227. 

Sainte-Beuve,  368. 

Salle  Daru,  288-311. 

Salle  Denon,  334,  380-384. 
Salle  des  fitats,  334-369. 

Salle  des  Primitifs,  37-51,  64. 
Salle  des  Sept  Cheminees, 
Louvre,  ii,  34,  312. 

Salle  des  Sept  Metres  (see 
Salle  des  Primitifs). 

Salle  Duchatel,  Louvre,  59- 

63. 

Salle  Henri  II.,  Louvre,  312. 
Salle  Lacaze,  Louvre,  27, 
370-379-  . 

Salle  Mollien,  272-287. 

Salle  Van  Dyck,  172-177. 


4i6 


Unbei 


Salon  Carre,  Louvre,  27,  34, 
64,  98,  245-265,  346,  375. 
Sandier,  35. 

Sarto,  Andrea  del,  9,  77-80, 
1 13;  “Charity,”  28,  80-82; 
“Holy  Family”  (2),  82- 

83. 

Sauvageot,  The,  Louvre,  27. 
Sauval,  3,  4. 

Savoldo,  107. 

Scheffer,  Ary,  339;  “Death 
of  Gericault,”  338;  “Temp- 
tation of  Christ,”  338-339. 
Seine,  The,  i,  3,  8,  13,  20,  32. 
Seybold,  “ Portrait  of  Him- 
self,” 151. 

Sforza,  Lodovico,  69. 
Sigismond,  Emperor,  8. 
Signorelli,  “ Birth  of  the 
Virgin,”  49-SO. 

Smith’s  “ Catalogue  Rai- 
sonne,”  221. 

Snyders,  150-160;  “Wild 
Boar  Hunt,”  158-159; 
“ Dogs  in  a Larder,”  191. 
Solario,  Andrea,  “ Madonna 
with  the  Green  Cushion,” 
75-76 ; “ Portrait  of  Charles 
d’Amboise,”  76-77 ; “ Head 
of  St.  John,”  77. 

Sorbonne,  The,  22. 

Soufflot,  20. 

Soult,  Marshal,  34,  133,  136. 
Squarcione,  86. 

Steen,  Jan,  157,  162,  190,  227, 
237,  238 ; “ Flemish  Fete  in 
an  Inn,”  236 ; “ Bad  Com- 
pany,” 236-237. 

Stevenson,  293. 

St.  Germain-en-Laye,  35. 
Sylvestre,  384 

Teniers,  158,  160-161,  193; 
“ Inn  beside  a River,”  161 ; 
“Temptation  of  St.  An- 
thony,” 161 ; “ Prodigal 

Son,”  161 ; “ Village  Fete,” 
161-162;  “ Kermesse,”  162; 
“Works  of  Mercy,”  162; 
“The  Duo,”  193- 


Ter  Borch,  141,  217-218,  227, 
233,  241,  242;  “The  Con- 
cert,” 218-219;  “The  Mu- 
sic-Lesson,” 219-220;  “Of- 
ficer Offering  Money  to  a 
Young  Girl,”  220-221. 

Thiers,  23. 

Thorny  - Thiery  Collection, 
334,  352,  366,  385-400. 

Thomy-Thieiy,  M.,  385. 

Tieck,  Ludwig,  256. 

Tiepolo,  306;  “Last  Supper,” 
117-118. 

Tintoretto,  103-104,  108,  131, 
150;  “Miracle  of  St. 
Mark,”  32 ; “ Paradise  ” 

(sketch),  104;  “Dead 
Christ  with  Two  Angels,” 
104;  “Susannah  at  the 
Bath,”  258-259 ; “ Portrait 
of  Himself,”  3^-381. 

Titian,  28,  30,  63,  84,  90,  91, 
93-94,  96-98,  102,  103,  105, 
106,  107,  108,  1 12,  131,  132, 
147,  157,  171,  278,  292,  295, 
376 ; “ Entombment,”  26, 

248-250;  “Man  with  the 
Glove,”  26,  251-253;  “As- 
sumption of  the  Virgin,” 
32;  “Jupiter  and  Antiope,” 
98-99 ; ‘ ‘ Disciples  at  Em- 
maus,”  99-  100;  “Virgin 
and  Child,”  etc.,  loo-ioi ; 
“ Portrait  of  Franqois  I.,” 
loi ; “An  Allegory,”  loi ; 
“ Alfonso  of  Ferrara  and 
Laura  Dianti,”  250-251. 

Tocque,  299-300;  “Portrait 
of  the  Dauphin,”  300 ; 
“ Portrait  of  Louis  Gal- 
loche,”  382 ; “ Portrait  of 
Jean-Louis  Lemoyne,”  382. 

Tomabuoni,  Giovanni,  53. 

Tornabuoni,  Lorenzo,  53. 

Tour  de  la  Libraire,  Louvre, 

7. 

Tournelles.  8,  12-13. 

Troyon,  Constant,  354,  355, 
385 ; “ Oxen  Going  to 

Work,”  352-354:  “Return 


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417 


to  the  Farm,”  354-355 ; 
“ Hauteurs  de  Suresnes,” 
393-394;  “L’Abrevoir,”  393; 
“La  Barriere,”  394;  “Ren- 
contre des  Troupeaux,” 
394.  395 ; “ Provende  des 
Poules,”  394,  395-396:  “Le 
Matin,”  394-395;  “ Trou- 

peau  de  Moutons,”  395. 

Tuileries,  Gardens  of  the  (see 
Gardens). 

Tuileries,  Palace  of  the,  1,  2, 
II,  13,  14,  22,  23,  24. 

Ucello,  Paolo,  44-45. 

Van  der  Heist,  141,  210-21 1; 
“Judging  of  the  Archery 
Prize,”  21 1 ; “Portrait  of 
a Man,”  21 1. 

Van  der  Heyden,  234,  238; 
“Village  on  the  Banks  of 
a Canal,”  239. 

Van  der  Meulen,  165 ; “ En- 
try of  Louis  XIV.,”  etc., 
165 ; “ Village  and  Cha- 
teau of  Dinant,”  165; 
“ Fort  of  Luxembourg,” 
165 ; “ View  of  Fontaine- 
bleau,” 165 ; “ View  of  Di- 
nant,” 193-194. 

Van  der  Werff,  243;  “Danc- 
ing Nymph,”  243. 

Van  der  Weyden,  Roger,  183, 
185,  186 ; “ Virgin  and 

Child,”  184;  “Descent  from 
the  Cross,”  184-185. 

Van  de  Velde,  Adriaen,  225, 
234,  238 ; “ Beach  at  Sche- 
veningen,”  234 ; “ Land- 

scape and  Cattle,”  234-235. 

Van  Dyck,  26,  30,  80,  131,  132, 

133.  147,  166,  170-171,  195, 

198,  201,  212,  265,  285,  286; 
“ Children  of  Charles  I.,” 
169-170;  “Duke  of  Rich- 
mond,” 170;  “Virgin  and 
Child,”  174 ; “ Equestrian 
Portrait  of  Frangois  de 
Moncade,”  175 ; “ Portrait 


of  Charles-Louis  of  Bava- 
ria,” etc.,  175-176;  “Por- 
trait of  Charles  I.,”  176- 
177 ; “ Virgin  with  the 

Donors,”  177 ; “ Portrait  of 
Himself,”  177. 

Van  Dyck  Room  (see  Salle 
Van  Dyck). 

Van  Eyck,  Hubert,  183. 

Van  Eyck,  Jan,  91,  149,  183, 
186,  188 ; “ Chancellor  Rol- 
lin,”  etc.,  181-183. 

Van  Loo,  Charles  Andre,  294, 
306,  307-308,  309;  “The 
Halt,”  307 ; “ Marie  Le- 

czinska,”  307. 

Van  Loo,  Jean-Baptist,  307- 
308. 

Van  Thulden,  158. 

Varon,  31. 

Vasari,  37,  38,  39,  44,  45,  46, 
49,  65,  66,  77,  78,  79,  82,  91, 
94,  95,  1 13,  245,  246,  254, 
257- 

Velasquez,  26,  97,  129,  132- 
133,  134,  157,  198,  201,  265, 
368;  “Infanta  Margarita,” 
130,  263-264;  “Portrait  of 
Philip  IV.,”  130-131,  132, 
264;  “Assemblage  of  Thir- 
teen People,”  131 ; “ Bust 
of  Philip  IV.,”  371 ; “ Por- 
trait of  Marie-Theresa  ” 
(or  “Queen  Mariana”), 
371-372. 

Vermeer,  “ The  Lace  Maker,” 
233- 

Vernet,  Claude,  308-309,  31 1. 

Vernet,  Claude- Joseph,  308. 

Vernet,  Joseph,  “ Ports  of 
France,”  33. 

Vernet,  Horace,  308,  328. 

Verocchio,  51,  69. 

Veronese,  Paolo,  30,  97,  104, 
107-108,  114,  117,  292,  350, 
375 ; “ Calvary,”  108,  109- 
iio;  “Disciples  at  Em- 
maus,”  108-109;  “Burning 
of  Sodom,”  iio-iii;  “Holy 
Family,”  iii,  261;  “Mar- 


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riage  Feast  at  Cana,”  259- 
261 ; “ Repast  at  the  House 
of  Simon,”  261. 

Versailles,  19,  30,  31,  33,  35, 
175,  268. 

Vigee  - Le  Brun,  Madame, 
310-311;  “Peace  Restoring 
Abundance,”  310;  “Herself 
and  Daughter”  (2),  315, 
382-383 ; “ Madame  Ray- 

mond”  (“Girl  with 
Muff”),  315-316;  “Joseph 
Vernet,”  382;  “Hubert 
Robert,”  382,  383. 

Villot,  Frederic,  34. 

Vinci,  Leonardo  da  (see  Le- 
onardo). 

Visconti,  23-24. 

Viti,  Timoteo,  122,  124. 

Vivarini,  Alvise,  93,  96,  105. 

Vollon,  296. 

Vouet,  267,  272,  276,  284; 
“ Presentation  in  the  Tem- 
ple,” 272. 

Waagen,  157,  175,  183,  272. 

Watson,  6. 


Watteau,  288,  392-294,  296, 
302,  306,  368 ; “ Embarka- 
tion for  the  Isle  of  Cyth- 
era,”  292,  294-295,  375 ; 

“Gilles,”  375,  377;  “Jupi- 
ter and  Antiope,”  375-3771 
“ La  Finette,”  377 ; “ LTn- 
different,”  377 ; “ The  False 
Step,”  377;  “The  Juggler,” 
377-378. 

Wellington,  Duke  of,  33. 

Weyden,  Roger  van  der  (see 
Van  der  Weyden). 

Wilson,  Richard,  138,  142. 

Woltmann,  148. 

Wouverman,  221,  222,  225; 
“The  Fat  Ox,”  221-222; 
“ The  Stag  Hunt,”  221 ; 
“ The  Cavalry  Charge,” 
221. 

Wynants,  165,  234,  239. 

Zurbaran,  129;  “St.  Peter 
and  St.  Raymond”  (or 
“ St.  Bonaventura  Presid- 
ing,” etc.),  130;  “Funeral 
of  a Bishop,”  130. 


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